This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.
Bump in the Dark
By Plot Roach
“It’s all in my head.” she told herself, snapping the light switch into the on position. From the corner of her eye, she swore she saw something escape into the shadows of the hallway. “Whoever is there, come out.” she called. She was met with silence and cursed her paranoia. She left the light on and went back to bed, the hallway still dark as a tomb beyond the lights of the bedroom. She closed her eyes, pulling a pillow over her head to block out the light. I should probably just grow up and turn off the light, she thought, I would get more rest that way. But she had been unable to sleep with the light off for the last three weeks, sure that something was stalking her from the shadows.
She reached over to flick the switch off, and as soon as she had, she heard a noise. It’s probably just the light bulb cooling down, she told herself. Or some piece of crap in the room falling off a shelf or something. But she did not have the overhead ceiling fan on, so what could have moved it? She turned the light back on, pulling the pillow off of her face and leaning towards the source of the noise. She was rewarded by a glimpse of the intruder and froze in horror. It skittered into the dark hallway once again, quicker than a roach. There, on the bedroom floor was a book, opened to a specific page. When she could breathe again, she slipped from the bed, grabbed the baseball bat she kept near, and looked down to the book.
Nightmares, the title page read. It was a book on superstitions and magic, a book she had bought when she was a child and held onto because of sentimental value. It was so easy as a child to sift through the stories on those pages and imagine every creature contained within to be real and an actual predator to unwary children. But I’m a grown woman now, she thought. Those things can’t be real. And yet she could not shake the image she had just seen from her memory. Maybe it’s too much caffeine? She asked herself, pulling the book up off of the floor and taking it back into bed with her. She read through the chapters, though at one point in her childhood she had read enough of the book to almost memorize it.
The section on Nightmares spoke of how different countries and religions saw the manifestations of nighttime fears and how to conquer them. She remembered a time when she put mirrors around her room and aluminum foil on the closet floor in order to ward away the boogeyman. It seemed silly to her adult self, though she was tempted to check in her kitchen to see how much aluminum foil was left on the roll in her pantry.
You just have to get a good night sleep, she told herself. You’re too tired and aren’t thinking clearly. She closed the book and set it on the nightstand next to the bed, also setting the baseball bat next to the foot of the bed. She left the light on, knowing that she would not trust any noises for the rest of the night if she were alone in the dark room. She pulled the pillow back over her head and steadied her breathing, counting backwards from one hundred in order to coax herself back to sleep. Somewhere around the number eighty two was when she felt a pressure on her chest. It did not let up after she hit the seventies and only increased the closer she got to number fifty. She threw the pillow to the side and tried to sit up, and found that something was sitting on her chest. It was too bright to look at directly and when she tried to shield her eyes with her hands, she found that they were pinned against her sides. She tried to roll, to buck the thing off of her, but she was held tight, the pressure increasing, she could barely breathe.
In her thrashing, the bed knocked against the end table and the lamp next to it fell to the floor with a clatter, breaking the bulb and sending sparks flying. The overhead light in the ceiling fan was the only source of the light in the room and it was greatly dimmed in comparrison to the desk lamp. That was when she noticed that the creature sitting upon her had dimmed as well. She could make out its features, a doglike head on a scaly thick torso. Its fingers more like tentacles than human digits, that ended in claws. The rest of its body a thick rope like form that reminded her of a snake. It hissed and pressed its body even further down upon her, squeezing out the last of her breath. Darkness blurred at the edge of her vision and she was certain that she was soon to die.
But the darkness lashed out and toppled the beast from atop her, sending it to the floor, where it thrashed against and undefined attacker. Something struck out at the lightbulb in the ceiling fan, sending bits of glass rainging down upon her. But the body of the light-beast was enough to light the room. That was when she saw that the thing that was attacking it was really a mass of several small shadow beings. Rat like faces screeched in unison as they attacked the light-beast. Bodies built like heavily armed turtles snaked out from the darker recesses of her apartment and latched onto her would be attacker. And though their bodies seemed like they should lumber across the floor, they moved with a speed that her eyes could barely register.
One by one the shadow things fell upon the light-beast, tearing it into chunks and fleeing with their booty into the corners of her room before devouring their catch. Once the light-creature was no more, they coalesced into one great being, the head of a cat resting on the shadowy form of a woman in a gossamer thin tunic.
The glow faded from the room as the last of the light-creature’s essence was absorbed into the shadow figure. It reached out to her mind, even as a clawed hand caressed her cheek. It sighed, as if looking down at a beloved child and turned away to escape into the looming darkness, talking to her without words.
Not everything in the darkness is your enemy and not everything in the light is your friend.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Enlightenment at the End of the World
This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.
Enlightenment at the End of the World
By Plot Roach
Soft footsteps on the marble floor, Zach had to walk slowly to keep from slipping and falling on his face. He padded along behind his friends, Joe and Micah, as they sought enlightenment at the End of the World Sanctuary.
It had taken three months, two planes and endless treks on unmarked roads driven by crazy cab drivers to find the place, and Zach still was not sure that they were in the right temple. Nothing was in English, and none of the locals seemed to answer any of their questions with anything more than a nod or a shake of the head. They stepped inside the first temple that they had come to while in the dense forest. The people inside dressed in thin robes, gestured to them that they should shed their shoes at the temple’s entrance and walk in their socks. Micah was in the middle of negotiations with one of the ’priests’, making sure that they were in the right location, when Zach wandered off, taking his notebook out and making a quick sketch of the inside of the building.
There were mosaics along the walls and the floors of the place, the ceiling itself the natural roof of a cave, complete with stalactites. Everyone was hushed as they went about the temple on various errands, and Zach had no doubt that they did not want to break off one of the sharp spikes hanging overhead with harsh vibrations. Though that thought had not seemed to dawn on his two friends.
“Are we here, at the end of the world, or not?” Micah yelled in frustration.
“I think it’s all a hoax.” said Joe.
The priest waved his hands at them and made hushing noises, pointing to the roof. And then quickly backed away from the men.
“What’s with him?” Micah asked.
“He’s afraid the stalactites will fall and kill him with all the noise you’re making.” answered Zach.
“The stalagmites?” asked Joe.
“Stalactites.” corrected Zach.
“What’s the freaking difference?” asked Micah.
“Stalactites are formed from the ceiling down, stalagmites form from the floor up.”
“And you know this how?” Joe asked.
“I obviously learned a thing or two in school. Stalactites have to hold on ‘tight’ or else they will fall to the floor. Stalagmites reach up and ‘might’ reach the ceiling if they try hard enough.” explained Zach.
“You are such a nerd.” Joe said, shaking his head.
“At least I wasn’t the one to talk so loud it threatened to bring the ceiling down on us and chased away the priest in the meantime.”
The three men walked form the main hall to the little rooms that branched off via natural tunnels in the cave. Micah got out his camera and began snapping pictures as fast as his flash would allow. Joe ran a hand along a rock wall that appeared to be the inside of a geode, filled with thick chunks of purple amethyst. Zach held onto his sketchbook, taken aback by the beauty before him.
“I wonder what these pictures will be worth to something like Natural Adventurer or Exciting Times…” Micah mumbled, still snapping photographs.
“Do we really want to sell them?” Zach asked. “I mean, those are great magazines and all. But if Mr. and Mrs. Redneck American find out about a place like this, they’ll only ruin in by wanting to carve away the rock to take home and sell. Or they’ll insist that everyone here speak English all the time to suit their needs. Then, before you know it, all the people here will lose their native beliefs in order to run the busy shift at the local fast food restaurant. And the forest will be cleared away for a parking lot. They’ll ruin everything…”
Joe and Micah looked at one another and laughed, deeply and loudly. They spent the rest of the tour pointing out the ‘beautiful things’ Zach had tried to impress them with and made fun of him in every way possible.
Once back in the main cathedral of the temple, Zach was sure that their teasing would stop, but he could not have been further from the truth. “Oh, look, a ‘stalactite’. Joe said, mimicking Zach’s voice. We better hold on ‘tight’ to it, or else someone will steal it and sell it on the black market.”
“And we should definitely put the McDonald’s over here and the Taco Bell over by the main doorway. Oh, and don’t forget the Starbucks. We need something for the locals to get them up at the crack of dawn to give tours and sweep the parking lot clean for Mr. And Mrs. Redneck’s arrival.”
Zach stalked away and was almost out of the temple itself when he heard the rumble. He turned, a scream caught in his throat as he watched his two friends laugh obnoxiously, sealing their fate. Joe was looking up at the ceiling with his camera when the first stalactite fell from the ceiling, piercing the camera lens and traveling through the body of the device until it planted itself deep inside his friend’s brain. Micah had enough warning to try and make a break for it, for all the good it did for him. Halfway to the door, where Zach was standing, a rain of pointy rocks launched from the ceiling, pinning his friend to the floor and staining the mosaic red with the man’s blood.
Zach watched in horror, knowing that he could do nothing to help them. The priests came from their various posts in the side rooms. Once it was clear that death would no longer fall upon them in the form of mineral fangs, the priests helped Zach pull his friends out of the main cathedral and through the front entrance.
Zach sat in silence, looking at the bodies of his two friends covered in blankets as he waited for what passed for the police and the coroner in a country such as this. Most of the priests had gone back to their prayers and rituals, leaving Zach to his own thoughts. They had treated the incident as if it happened everyday. But while Zach had expected a kind word or even a small show of remorse, he certainly received none. “Some enlightenment.” Zach complained.
“Do not confuse our actions -or inactions- for rudeness, young fellow.” one of the priests said. “What happened today simply reaffirmed our faith. Your friends were meant to die so that you could carry their story to others that need to hear and to learn from it.”
“But..” Zach started to argue. It all seemed so meaningless, to let them die like that and not even offer a prayer for their departure. It was wasteful, inhumane and downright stupid, he thought. Tears welled up in his eyes and he turned away from the priest.
“Often enlightenment is painful, but is necessary to fulfill the life lessons we need to know before we can move on to the next world.”
“Any other bits of wisdom you’d like to pass down to me?” Zach snapped at the old man, wiping away his tears. And with them, his views on third world wisdom and spirituality.
“I can offer you a coupon for thirty percent off anything in our gift shop.” the old man offered, holding out a scrap of paper to Zach.
Enlightenment at the End of the World
By Plot Roach
Soft footsteps on the marble floor, Zach had to walk slowly to keep from slipping and falling on his face. He padded along behind his friends, Joe and Micah, as they sought enlightenment at the End of the World Sanctuary.
It had taken three months, two planes and endless treks on unmarked roads driven by crazy cab drivers to find the place, and Zach still was not sure that they were in the right temple. Nothing was in English, and none of the locals seemed to answer any of their questions with anything more than a nod or a shake of the head. They stepped inside the first temple that they had come to while in the dense forest. The people inside dressed in thin robes, gestured to them that they should shed their shoes at the temple’s entrance and walk in their socks. Micah was in the middle of negotiations with one of the ’priests’, making sure that they were in the right location, when Zach wandered off, taking his notebook out and making a quick sketch of the inside of the building.
There were mosaics along the walls and the floors of the place, the ceiling itself the natural roof of a cave, complete with stalactites. Everyone was hushed as they went about the temple on various errands, and Zach had no doubt that they did not want to break off one of the sharp spikes hanging overhead with harsh vibrations. Though that thought had not seemed to dawn on his two friends.
“Are we here, at the end of the world, or not?” Micah yelled in frustration.
“I think it’s all a hoax.” said Joe.
The priest waved his hands at them and made hushing noises, pointing to the roof. And then quickly backed away from the men.
“What’s with him?” Micah asked.
“He’s afraid the stalactites will fall and kill him with all the noise you’re making.” answered Zach.
“The stalagmites?” asked Joe.
“Stalactites.” corrected Zach.
“What’s the freaking difference?” asked Micah.
“Stalactites are formed from the ceiling down, stalagmites form from the floor up.”
“And you know this how?” Joe asked.
“I obviously learned a thing or two in school. Stalactites have to hold on ‘tight’ or else they will fall to the floor. Stalagmites reach up and ‘might’ reach the ceiling if they try hard enough.” explained Zach.
“You are such a nerd.” Joe said, shaking his head.
“At least I wasn’t the one to talk so loud it threatened to bring the ceiling down on us and chased away the priest in the meantime.”
The three men walked form the main hall to the little rooms that branched off via natural tunnels in the cave. Micah got out his camera and began snapping pictures as fast as his flash would allow. Joe ran a hand along a rock wall that appeared to be the inside of a geode, filled with thick chunks of purple amethyst. Zach held onto his sketchbook, taken aback by the beauty before him.
“I wonder what these pictures will be worth to something like Natural Adventurer or Exciting Times…” Micah mumbled, still snapping photographs.
“Do we really want to sell them?” Zach asked. “I mean, those are great magazines and all. But if Mr. and Mrs. Redneck American find out about a place like this, they’ll only ruin in by wanting to carve away the rock to take home and sell. Or they’ll insist that everyone here speak English all the time to suit their needs. Then, before you know it, all the people here will lose their native beliefs in order to run the busy shift at the local fast food restaurant. And the forest will be cleared away for a parking lot. They’ll ruin everything…”
Joe and Micah looked at one another and laughed, deeply and loudly. They spent the rest of the tour pointing out the ‘beautiful things’ Zach had tried to impress them with and made fun of him in every way possible.
Once back in the main cathedral of the temple, Zach was sure that their teasing would stop, but he could not have been further from the truth. “Oh, look, a ‘stalactite’. Joe said, mimicking Zach’s voice. We better hold on ‘tight’ to it, or else someone will steal it and sell it on the black market.”
“And we should definitely put the McDonald’s over here and the Taco Bell over by the main doorway. Oh, and don’t forget the Starbucks. We need something for the locals to get them up at the crack of dawn to give tours and sweep the parking lot clean for Mr. And Mrs. Redneck’s arrival.”
Zach stalked away and was almost out of the temple itself when he heard the rumble. He turned, a scream caught in his throat as he watched his two friends laugh obnoxiously, sealing their fate. Joe was looking up at the ceiling with his camera when the first stalactite fell from the ceiling, piercing the camera lens and traveling through the body of the device until it planted itself deep inside his friend’s brain. Micah had enough warning to try and make a break for it, for all the good it did for him. Halfway to the door, where Zach was standing, a rain of pointy rocks launched from the ceiling, pinning his friend to the floor and staining the mosaic red with the man’s blood.
Zach watched in horror, knowing that he could do nothing to help them. The priests came from their various posts in the side rooms. Once it was clear that death would no longer fall upon them in the form of mineral fangs, the priests helped Zach pull his friends out of the main cathedral and through the front entrance.
Zach sat in silence, looking at the bodies of his two friends covered in blankets as he waited for what passed for the police and the coroner in a country such as this. Most of the priests had gone back to their prayers and rituals, leaving Zach to his own thoughts. They had treated the incident as if it happened everyday. But while Zach had expected a kind word or even a small show of remorse, he certainly received none. “Some enlightenment.” Zach complained.
“Do not confuse our actions -or inactions- for rudeness, young fellow.” one of the priests said. “What happened today simply reaffirmed our faith. Your friends were meant to die so that you could carry their story to others that need to hear and to learn from it.”
“But..” Zach started to argue. It all seemed so meaningless, to let them die like that and not even offer a prayer for their departure. It was wasteful, inhumane and downright stupid, he thought. Tears welled up in his eyes and he turned away from the priest.
“Often enlightenment is painful, but is necessary to fulfill the life lessons we need to know before we can move on to the next world.”
“Any other bits of wisdom you’d like to pass down to me?” Zach snapped at the old man, wiping away his tears. And with them, his views on third world wisdom and spirituality.
“I can offer you a coupon for thirty percent off anything in our gift shop.” the old man offered, holding out a scrap of paper to Zach.
Monday, May 30, 2011
The Last of the Last
This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.
The Last of the Last
By Plot Roach
Bernard shifted from one foot to the other, trying to think of a way he could approach the blonde woman without sounding like an idiot. He was at a friend’s nightclub, the Disaster Zone, on its opening night. It was filled wall to wall with posters, pictures and other items for post apocalyptic survival. Bernard was impressed with the lower level, an actual bomb shelter from the past, that had been refurbished as a lounge of sorts.
He practiced his lines, trying to get the words and the timing right, without sounding rehearsed. But knew without a shadow of a doubt, that she was well out of his league. He stepped forward, ready to make his move when a younger man, physically better built than Bernard himself, stepped forward to charm her for his own. She took a glance at him before shooting him down. The man had not even had a chance, and he was built like a male model. What kind of chance do I have with her? He thought. He lumbered back to the bar, ordering another beer when his friend walked up to him.
“So…How did it go?”
“I never even talked to her.”
“What?”
“Some other guy built like a Greek god got there first and she swatted him like a fly.”
“So? Try anyway.”
“Have you seen what I look like lately?” Bernard whined. If the male she had turned away earlier was the prime example of the male physical form, Bernard looked like a genetic freak, with a high forehead, thick waist and tons of hair everywhere except for the top of his head.
“Dude, what’s the worst that can happen?” his friend asked. “So she says ‘no’, it’s not the end of the world. And you’ll never know until you ask.”
Bernard sighed and nodded, but when he turned around to find her, she was gone. He scanned the different rooms, hoping that she had not already left the club with someone else. But the more frantic his search became, the more he had hoped that she had left the building. Then at least I won’t have made a fool of myself, he thought.
But there she was, in the basement lounge. And she was alone on the fuzzy couch that reminded Bernard of shag carpet. She was looking at the monitor across from her as it showed snippets of various old horror movies from the past. Ant headed men, giant rodents and aliens chasing well endowed, scantily clad women. There were no speakers, so the women screamed silently, even though the music from the floor above would have surely drown out any noise from the television.
Bernard crept forward, wondering how he should introduce himself. “That one was from ‘Pod People of Andromeda Four‘, I think.” he said, pointing to the screen as green suited men with glittered helmets chased after a woman with a torn skirt.
“These actually came from real movies?” she asked.
“Yep, my friend owns the club and he asked for help finding the worst horror and science fiction movies possible.”
“And you would be the expert on such things?”
“Not the expert, but I’ve seen my fair share of loser movies.”
“Hmmm.”
Got to think of something cool to say, he thought to himself. You’re losing her. “So what brings you here?”
“A girl friend wanted to see the opening night, and I have a hard time saying no to her.”
“Well, at least you found a quiet corner for yourself.”
“Yeah…I had.”
“Oh” he said. Maybe I should take that as a clue, he thought. Better to leave now with his dignity intact then wait until it was too late. “I’ll see you later, then.” he said and backed away to the door. His friend smiled at him and closed the door before he could walk through, making a face at him through the clear glass window.
“Very funny, Greg. Now open the door.”
“Not until she gives you a smooch, lover boy.”
“Greg, come on.” Bernard was beginning to panic, if the woman did not like him before, he was definitely on her naughty list now. He slammed his hand against the door and Greg only laughed.
“You should see the look on your face-”
The building shook and Greg turned away from the window in the door. “What the fu-”
The shaking was accompanied by a roar, the electricity was cut from the room and bits of debris piled about them in the bomb shelter. When all was still, a backup generator came on, flooding the little room with enough light to see a freckle on a mouse's butt.
“What do you think happened?” the woman asked.
“Maybe an earthquake? Or could it have been a bomb?”
Bernard tried to open the door, and found a small timer ticking madly above the entrance. He had thought it was part of the décor of the room. But now realized that the shelter was still ‘active’. “Oh crap.”
“What is it?”
“The door is really locked for good now.”
“What do you mean?”
“These old shelters had timers on the locks to prevent them from opening too early. This one is set for two weeks.”
“Why two weeks?”
“Some were set for as long as twenty five years, I’ll take two weeks any day. Besides, someone is sure to know that we’re down here and they’ll cut us out soon.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’m Bernard, by the way.”
“Like the dog?”
He smiled. “I get that a lot. It’s actually a family name.”
“I’m Eve.”
Within minutes they finished their pleasantries. Within hours they knew about each other past, like schools attended, family quirks and other assorted tidbits people in disasters trade with one another when there is little else to talk about. Hours passed and became the first day, which stretched into the first week. By then, they had rationed what food they could find in the cupboards of the shelter. They read books, watched the monitor on the endless ‘disaster movie’ reel, making up their own dialogue, and played checkers when they substituted some of the missing black markers for Oreo cookies. Until Bernard ate the pieces, that is. When two weeks had passed, the door opened with a swish, allowing fresh, if highly dusty air to filter into the shelter. They walked through the wreckage of the nightclub, stepping over bloated corpses and broken Hollywood props.
“For being in a place loaded down with survival gear, it doesn’t look like anyone made it out alive.” Eve said.
Once out into the sunlight, the sight of the city around them was no better. Buildings lay broken like children’s toys, charred skeletons lined the streets and odd looking chunks of metal were cast about like loose change in a wishing pool.
“Are those space ships?” Eve asked. She pointed to the burned skeleton halfway out of its ‘ship’, its skull blackened and elongated like a bird’s.
“They sure as hell don’t look like dinosaurs.” Bernard said.
“Or big ass rats.”
They wandered the city, afraid at first that more of the ‘aliens’ would be on the prowl. But after a few hours of searching, they realized that they were very much alone. “We could be the only humans left on the planet.” Bernard said.
“And just what is that supposed to mean?” asked Eve, searching under the wreckage of a grocery store front for anything usable.
“The whole of the human race is in our hands.” Bernard said. “We’ll have to breed to save the species.”
“What are we, panda bears?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I see where you’re going.” she said, breaking her way through a tangle of broken concrete and rebar to reach into the store’s surviving display.
“I would have only the greatest respect for you, you know.” Bernard said, trying to undo some of the damage.
“Like you could leave me for another woman…”
“But… It’s not like that-”
“Here,” she said, handing him a partially melted plastic glass. “You fill this up and I’ll look for a turkey baster.”
“But that’s not how…”
“No, I see how it is. But there’s something you have to understand, Bernard.” she said with her arms crossed over her chest, tapping her foot on the wreckage of the city. “I might be the last woman on the planet, but I’m also the last lesbian.”
The Last of the Last
By Plot Roach
Bernard shifted from one foot to the other, trying to think of a way he could approach the blonde woman without sounding like an idiot. He was at a friend’s nightclub, the Disaster Zone, on its opening night. It was filled wall to wall with posters, pictures and other items for post apocalyptic survival. Bernard was impressed with the lower level, an actual bomb shelter from the past, that had been refurbished as a lounge of sorts.
He practiced his lines, trying to get the words and the timing right, without sounding rehearsed. But knew without a shadow of a doubt, that she was well out of his league. He stepped forward, ready to make his move when a younger man, physically better built than Bernard himself, stepped forward to charm her for his own. She took a glance at him before shooting him down. The man had not even had a chance, and he was built like a male model. What kind of chance do I have with her? He thought. He lumbered back to the bar, ordering another beer when his friend walked up to him.
“So…How did it go?”
“I never even talked to her.”
“What?”
“Some other guy built like a Greek god got there first and she swatted him like a fly.”
“So? Try anyway.”
“Have you seen what I look like lately?” Bernard whined. If the male she had turned away earlier was the prime example of the male physical form, Bernard looked like a genetic freak, with a high forehead, thick waist and tons of hair everywhere except for the top of his head.
“Dude, what’s the worst that can happen?” his friend asked. “So she says ‘no’, it’s not the end of the world. And you’ll never know until you ask.”
Bernard sighed and nodded, but when he turned around to find her, she was gone. He scanned the different rooms, hoping that she had not already left the club with someone else. But the more frantic his search became, the more he had hoped that she had left the building. Then at least I won’t have made a fool of myself, he thought.
But there she was, in the basement lounge. And she was alone on the fuzzy couch that reminded Bernard of shag carpet. She was looking at the monitor across from her as it showed snippets of various old horror movies from the past. Ant headed men, giant rodents and aliens chasing well endowed, scantily clad women. There were no speakers, so the women screamed silently, even though the music from the floor above would have surely drown out any noise from the television.
Bernard crept forward, wondering how he should introduce himself. “That one was from ‘Pod People of Andromeda Four‘, I think.” he said, pointing to the screen as green suited men with glittered helmets chased after a woman with a torn skirt.
“These actually came from real movies?” she asked.
“Yep, my friend owns the club and he asked for help finding the worst horror and science fiction movies possible.”
“And you would be the expert on such things?”
“Not the expert, but I’ve seen my fair share of loser movies.”
“Hmmm.”
Got to think of something cool to say, he thought to himself. You’re losing her. “So what brings you here?”
“A girl friend wanted to see the opening night, and I have a hard time saying no to her.”
“Well, at least you found a quiet corner for yourself.”
“Yeah…I had.”
“Oh” he said. Maybe I should take that as a clue, he thought. Better to leave now with his dignity intact then wait until it was too late. “I’ll see you later, then.” he said and backed away to the door. His friend smiled at him and closed the door before he could walk through, making a face at him through the clear glass window.
“Very funny, Greg. Now open the door.”
“Not until she gives you a smooch, lover boy.”
“Greg, come on.” Bernard was beginning to panic, if the woman did not like him before, he was definitely on her naughty list now. He slammed his hand against the door and Greg only laughed.
“You should see the look on your face-”
The building shook and Greg turned away from the window in the door. “What the fu-”
The shaking was accompanied by a roar, the electricity was cut from the room and bits of debris piled about them in the bomb shelter. When all was still, a backup generator came on, flooding the little room with enough light to see a freckle on a mouse's butt.
“What do you think happened?” the woman asked.
“Maybe an earthquake? Or could it have been a bomb?”
Bernard tried to open the door, and found a small timer ticking madly above the entrance. He had thought it was part of the décor of the room. But now realized that the shelter was still ‘active’. “Oh crap.”
“What is it?”
“The door is really locked for good now.”
“What do you mean?”
“These old shelters had timers on the locks to prevent them from opening too early. This one is set for two weeks.”
“Why two weeks?”
“Some were set for as long as twenty five years, I’ll take two weeks any day. Besides, someone is sure to know that we’re down here and they’ll cut us out soon.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’m Bernard, by the way.”
“Like the dog?”
He smiled. “I get that a lot. It’s actually a family name.”
“I’m Eve.”
Within minutes they finished their pleasantries. Within hours they knew about each other past, like schools attended, family quirks and other assorted tidbits people in disasters trade with one another when there is little else to talk about. Hours passed and became the first day, which stretched into the first week. By then, they had rationed what food they could find in the cupboards of the shelter. They read books, watched the monitor on the endless ‘disaster movie’ reel, making up their own dialogue, and played checkers when they substituted some of the missing black markers for Oreo cookies. Until Bernard ate the pieces, that is. When two weeks had passed, the door opened with a swish, allowing fresh, if highly dusty air to filter into the shelter. They walked through the wreckage of the nightclub, stepping over bloated corpses and broken Hollywood props.
“For being in a place loaded down with survival gear, it doesn’t look like anyone made it out alive.” Eve said.
Once out into the sunlight, the sight of the city around them was no better. Buildings lay broken like children’s toys, charred skeletons lined the streets and odd looking chunks of metal were cast about like loose change in a wishing pool.
“Are those space ships?” Eve asked. She pointed to the burned skeleton halfway out of its ‘ship’, its skull blackened and elongated like a bird’s.
“They sure as hell don’t look like dinosaurs.” Bernard said.
“Or big ass rats.”
They wandered the city, afraid at first that more of the ‘aliens’ would be on the prowl. But after a few hours of searching, they realized that they were very much alone. “We could be the only humans left on the planet.” Bernard said.
“And just what is that supposed to mean?” asked Eve, searching under the wreckage of a grocery store front for anything usable.
“The whole of the human race is in our hands.” Bernard said. “We’ll have to breed to save the species.”
“What are we, panda bears?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I see where you’re going.” she said, breaking her way through a tangle of broken concrete and rebar to reach into the store’s surviving display.
“I would have only the greatest respect for you, you know.” Bernard said, trying to undo some of the damage.
“Like you could leave me for another woman…”
“But… It’s not like that-”
“Here,” she said, handing him a partially melted plastic glass. “You fill this up and I’ll look for a turkey baster.”
“But that’s not how…”
“No, I see how it is. But there’s something you have to understand, Bernard.” she said with her arms crossed over her chest, tapping her foot on the wreckage of the city. “I might be the last woman on the planet, but I’m also the last lesbian.”
Sunday, May 29, 2011
A Cute and Fuzzy Death
This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.
A Cute and Fuzzy Death
By Plot Roach
“Oh, how cute.” Melissa said, reaching out to pet the little black rabbit which immediately took cover under the plastic igloo in the cage.
“Don’t move so fast.” Jared said. “They spook easily and it will never come out again.”
The manager of the pet store looked over and made a quick assessment of the two people who had just entered the store, making a beeline for the section he called the ‘cute and fuzzys’. It was just past spring, the beginning of summer and people had the urge to hold something fluffy and cuddly, buying whatever creature fit their mood at the time, and quickly losing interest when their ‘pet’ became a ‘responsibility’.
He rolled his eyes and wandered over, hoping to dissuade them from such a thoughtless purchase, even though it might cost the store a sale.
“May I help you?” he asked, a bit more somber than the occasion called for.
“Oh, no. We’re just looking.” Melissa said, still eyeing the plastic dome that held the minute black rabbit.
“What she means to say, is that we’re looking to pick up a new pet today.”
“What will it be replacing?” the manager asked.
“We’re no good with fish, the gerbil managed to Houdini his way out of his cage (and we never saw him again), and-”
“Plants are too boring.” finished Melissa.
Let me get this right, the manager thought. You’re no good with things that can’t escape and you probably have a mummified rodent behind your couch? And now you’re looking to torture another innocent life? But what he managed to say was, “I see. Maybe something beautiful but sedate. Like a snake or a turtle?”
“Oh, ick!” said Melissa. “I want something warm and fuzzy, not something slimy.”
“Actually, snakes and turtles aren’t ‘slimy’, it’s a misconception.”
“Hey, whatever.” said Jared. “We just want something we can cuddle with, but isn’t too much trouble to keep.”
Maybe a hooker? The manager thought, not daring to open his mouth until he had taken a few deep breaths and was sure that he would not mistakenly tell them what he really thought of them. “You could start out with mice, or a nice rat. Then when you get the hang of it, work your way up to a guinea pig.”
“Rodents, ick!” Melissa squealed. “I hate vermin.”
And just what do you think that you are? The manager thought to himself. “Well… What did you have in mind?”
“Well, I like this rabbit, but he keeps hiding from me.”
I can’t imagine why, the manager thought. “Let me collect him for you.” He overturned the plastic igloo and scooped the bunny up into his arms. The poor thing shook and tried to hide in the crook of his arm. I would hide too, if I was sentenced to live (and most assuredly die) with these two.
“Bunny!” Melissa squealed, and the rabbit nearly jumped from the manager’s hands to the floor in order to escape her clutches. Reluctantly the store manager passed the creature over, watching the woman’s red painted fingernails sink like talons into the poor beast.
“Bunny! Bunny! Bunny!” she began to sing, pressing the rabbit up to her face to feel its soft fur against her cheek.
“Why is it the only one in the cage?” Jared asked.
The manager lifted an eyebrow and made one last effort to save the poor creature, thinking fast. “That’s because it’s black, instead of one of the other colors. It’s not a popular choice. In fact, we got it by mistake and were stuck with it. It’s been here a while, so it’s older than most of our other furry residents. Which means it will not have as long of a life with you as you might like.”
“Because it’s black?” Melissa asked.
“Like a black cat, it’s bad luck or something like that?” Jared asked.
Well, at least I can give them a show, the manager thought. “Yes, they are believed to be bad luck. In fact, some believe that to bring a black rabbit into your home -even a dead one, is to invite death to carry away a loved one.”
“It brings death into your house?” Melissa asked, pulling the fuzzy creature away from her face and holding it at an arm’s length.
“Cool, I’ll buy it.” Jared said.
“Did you not here what I said?” asked the manager. “To take it into your home is to invite death in.”
“Yeah, I heard what you said.” Jared said, smiling. “And I want to buy it as a gift for my grandma. She’s old and sick anyway. But I can’t get my inheritance from her until she dies. So maybe Mr. Bunny will make her feel all warm and happy before, well, she kicks the bucket.”
“And then what will you do with the creature?” the manager demanded.
“Well… I have a grandma too.” Melissa ventured.
The manager rolled his eyes, obviously defeated in his effort to save the rabbit. He took it to the front counter where he placed it into a carrier box and handed it over to Melissa. “That will be twenty seven fifty for the fuzzy black assassin, please.”
A Cute and Fuzzy Death
By Plot Roach
“Oh, how cute.” Melissa said, reaching out to pet the little black rabbit which immediately took cover under the plastic igloo in the cage.
“Don’t move so fast.” Jared said. “They spook easily and it will never come out again.”
The manager of the pet store looked over and made a quick assessment of the two people who had just entered the store, making a beeline for the section he called the ‘cute and fuzzys’. It was just past spring, the beginning of summer and people had the urge to hold something fluffy and cuddly, buying whatever creature fit their mood at the time, and quickly losing interest when their ‘pet’ became a ‘responsibility’.
He rolled his eyes and wandered over, hoping to dissuade them from such a thoughtless purchase, even though it might cost the store a sale.
“May I help you?” he asked, a bit more somber than the occasion called for.
“Oh, no. We’re just looking.” Melissa said, still eyeing the plastic dome that held the minute black rabbit.
“What she means to say, is that we’re looking to pick up a new pet today.”
“What will it be replacing?” the manager asked.
“We’re no good with fish, the gerbil managed to Houdini his way out of his cage (and we never saw him again), and-”
“Plants are too boring.” finished Melissa.
Let me get this right, the manager thought. You’re no good with things that can’t escape and you probably have a mummified rodent behind your couch? And now you’re looking to torture another innocent life? But what he managed to say was, “I see. Maybe something beautiful but sedate. Like a snake or a turtle?”
“Oh, ick!” said Melissa. “I want something warm and fuzzy, not something slimy.”
“Actually, snakes and turtles aren’t ‘slimy’, it’s a misconception.”
“Hey, whatever.” said Jared. “We just want something we can cuddle with, but isn’t too much trouble to keep.”
Maybe a hooker? The manager thought, not daring to open his mouth until he had taken a few deep breaths and was sure that he would not mistakenly tell them what he really thought of them. “You could start out with mice, or a nice rat. Then when you get the hang of it, work your way up to a guinea pig.”
“Rodents, ick!” Melissa squealed. “I hate vermin.”
And just what do you think that you are? The manager thought to himself. “Well… What did you have in mind?”
“Well, I like this rabbit, but he keeps hiding from me.”
I can’t imagine why, the manager thought. “Let me collect him for you.” He overturned the plastic igloo and scooped the bunny up into his arms. The poor thing shook and tried to hide in the crook of his arm. I would hide too, if I was sentenced to live (and most assuredly die) with these two.
“Bunny!” Melissa squealed, and the rabbit nearly jumped from the manager’s hands to the floor in order to escape her clutches. Reluctantly the store manager passed the creature over, watching the woman’s red painted fingernails sink like talons into the poor beast.
“Bunny! Bunny! Bunny!” she began to sing, pressing the rabbit up to her face to feel its soft fur against her cheek.
“Why is it the only one in the cage?” Jared asked.
The manager lifted an eyebrow and made one last effort to save the poor creature, thinking fast. “That’s because it’s black, instead of one of the other colors. It’s not a popular choice. In fact, we got it by mistake and were stuck with it. It’s been here a while, so it’s older than most of our other furry residents. Which means it will not have as long of a life with you as you might like.”
“Because it’s black?” Melissa asked.
“Like a black cat, it’s bad luck or something like that?” Jared asked.
Well, at least I can give them a show, the manager thought. “Yes, they are believed to be bad luck. In fact, some believe that to bring a black rabbit into your home -even a dead one, is to invite death to carry away a loved one.”
“It brings death into your house?” Melissa asked, pulling the fuzzy creature away from her face and holding it at an arm’s length.
“Cool, I’ll buy it.” Jared said.
“Did you not here what I said?” asked the manager. “To take it into your home is to invite death in.”
“Yeah, I heard what you said.” Jared said, smiling. “And I want to buy it as a gift for my grandma. She’s old and sick anyway. But I can’t get my inheritance from her until she dies. So maybe Mr. Bunny will make her feel all warm and happy before, well, she kicks the bucket.”
“And then what will you do with the creature?” the manager demanded.
“Well… I have a grandma too.” Melissa ventured.
The manager rolled his eyes, obviously defeated in his effort to save the rabbit. He took it to the front counter where he placed it into a carrier box and handed it over to Melissa. “That will be twenty seven fifty for the fuzzy black assassin, please.”
Saturday, May 28, 2011
The Perfect Party
This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.
The Perfect Party
By Plot Roach
Sam grumbled under his breath as he switched the outside light bulbs from the red and green Christmas colors to red white and blue in order to help celebrate Memorial day. Why can’t we just buy the damn white ones and leave them up all year, he thought to himself. Then I wouldn’t have to climb up this damned rickety ladder again the day after Thanksgiving to do it again.
He sighed and tossed on bulb into the bucket below him as he twisted another one into its place. He loved his wife, Martha, but felt that there were times she went too far when entertaining the locals. He had agreed to the barbeque, and to the fireworks that they would be setting off afterwards, but why she had to have everything perfect was beyond him. No neighbor would frown if the grass was half an inch too long, if his mouth was full of Cajun style pork ribs and a hand holding a chilled beer. No one that he knew would be looking at the crab grass that grew between the cracks of his driveway when blossoms of color exploded in the sky that night with the show that Sam had planned. But he loved his wife, and thus had to pay the price for that affection, making sure that everything was perfect in her world so that he could tolerate things in his own.
He ran out of blue light bulbs as he reached the end of the strand on the edge of the garage. Martha approached with a critical eye as she handed him a cold beer, and Sam could tell what she was about to say, before she could even say it.
“Sam, I don’t think-”
“I know, Martha. It doesn’t match, but I ran out of blue light bulbs and I don’t want to go running off to the store just yet. Let a man rest on his day off for once, and I’ll pick up some more on the way home from work tomorrow."
“It’s just that I want everything to be-”
“Perfect, I know. But the party won’t be until the day after tomorrow, and I promise that I’ll get it up first thing after I get home. I promise, love.”
She made a face and handed him his beer. “You better call it a day then, I don’t want you drinking and up on that latter. It’s dangerous.”
“I’ve only had one sip, not a six-pack.” he hissed. “A unicorn falling from the sky is far more likely to happen than me falling off this ladder. Now let me finish my work.”
A great shadow passed over him and for a moment Sam thought that a plane had passed too low to the ground, but there was no sound of an engine, except from far away. There was a great thud behind him that he felt more than heard. “Oh, look Sam!” Martha exclaimed, as a big wooden crate came to rest in their front yard, crushing the birdbath even as the parachute connected to the cargo tangled itself in the nearby tree.
So much for having the yard perfect the day after tomorrow, Sam thought. No way we can replace the birdbath in time. And I’m damn sure that the crate dug a groove in the lawn.
“What do you think it is?” Martha asked as they approached the wooden crate.
“Only one way to tell.” Sam said. “Bring me my crowbar from the top of my tool chest.” Sam circled the crate, looking for any distinguishing markings. All he found was a small card stapled to the top that read “Einhorn Exotics box 7 of 20.” There was no address nor a telephone number. He tapped on the side of the box, but it sounded mostly hollow. He had heard of things falling from planes before, but mostly it was just engine parts or frozen passenger poop. Never something that had been a part of actual cargo. He wondered what it would be worth.
He started prying open the side of the crate, as Martha watched from a safe distance. While she was curious as to what the box held, she was also afraid that what they were doing was illegal. “I think we should call the police, Sam. It’s not ours and maybe someone will give us a reward if we give it back to them intact.”
“Don’t you know that these things are usually insured up the wazoo?” Sam asked. “So whomever lost it will be reimbursed. In the meantime maybe we’ll find something that’s worth the price of replacing our birdbath.”
A few wooden planks pried off, and the side of the crate gave way. In the depths of the dark interior Sam could hear the sound of breathing. “What the hell could it be?” he asked. He continued to look inside the dark box while Martha fetched a flashlight to give them a better look at the cargo.
“It’s some kind of beast,” Sam said. He wondered if the creature was dying, but the box had drifted down with the help of the parachute, so he doubted that the ride had cause the thing any major harm. He remembered that some animals had to be heavily sedated before taking long trips in a plane and chalked that up to the creature’s lethargy. Even in the beam of the flashlight he couldn’t quite make out what it was. It seemed to be build almost like a mule or small horse. Its hide was mostly black, but with zebra stripes along its legs and rear. The head and ears reminded him of a mule deer. And rising from its forehead was a single black horn, that spiraled toward the back of the beast.
Slowly it opened its eyes and got to its feet. “Easy now, boy.” Sam said, suddenly wishing that he had followed his wife’s advise and left the crate closed. But there was no going back now, as the creature began to walk toward the sunlight. When Sam looked over his shoulder, Martha was nowhere to be found. I hope she’s calling animal control, Sam thought. But no, she returned a moment later with a mixing bowl full of water and a few carrots dangling form her hand.
“What are you up to with all that?” he asked her.
“The thing looks like it’s had a long trip, Sam. Maybe it could use some refreshments.”
Oh there she goes again, he thought. If she’s not making the neighbor’s happy, she’s trying to help some stray animal. He shook his head and was about to walk away, leaving her to tend the animal, when he saw the creature charge. He pushed his wife out of the way of what would have been a fatal blow. As it was, he became entangled in the creature’s horn and as it ran off down the block, it took Sam with it.
He held onto the beast with all his strength as he tried to disengage himself from the animal. He was carried for what seemed like an hour, though he was later told that the incident had only taken fifteen minutes. The thing rampaged through the manicured lawns of his city and tried to make a break for it by jumping into the manmade lake. At some point during the journey, Sam was certain that he would drown thanks to the creature and lost consciousness about the time that animal control became aware of the being that threatened the city’s tranquility.
Sam was rescued after the creature was brought down by a tranquilizer dart. When he was released from the hospital, all in time for the barbeque and the festivities of the black party, Sam noticed that some thoughtful neighbor had changed the white light bulb on the edge of the garage to a blue one and had finished all the lights in front of the house as well. The birdbath had been replaced and a large settlement had been offered to pay recompense for the damages the creature had caused. It seemed that Einhorn Exotics dealt with mutated creatures found in nature and transported them to the highest bidder. The “unicorn” that dropped on Sam and Martha’s front lawn had been born in a local zoo and was on its way to a private collector in New York.
And try as he might, Sam could not relax and enjoy himself during the festivities. While everything had been deemed ‘perfect’ when he returned home, there was one small detail that nagged at him. As the fireworks exploded overhead, they highlighted the new birdbath that sported a streamlined unicorn rearing at its center. And while this little detail would not have bothered him a week earlier. The only unicorn Sam wished to see was the beast that took him for a ride, preferably gutted and cooking on his barbeque.
The Perfect Party
By Plot Roach
Sam grumbled under his breath as he switched the outside light bulbs from the red and green Christmas colors to red white and blue in order to help celebrate Memorial day. Why can’t we just buy the damn white ones and leave them up all year, he thought to himself. Then I wouldn’t have to climb up this damned rickety ladder again the day after Thanksgiving to do it again.
He sighed and tossed on bulb into the bucket below him as he twisted another one into its place. He loved his wife, Martha, but felt that there were times she went too far when entertaining the locals. He had agreed to the barbeque, and to the fireworks that they would be setting off afterwards, but why she had to have everything perfect was beyond him. No neighbor would frown if the grass was half an inch too long, if his mouth was full of Cajun style pork ribs and a hand holding a chilled beer. No one that he knew would be looking at the crab grass that grew between the cracks of his driveway when blossoms of color exploded in the sky that night with the show that Sam had planned. But he loved his wife, and thus had to pay the price for that affection, making sure that everything was perfect in her world so that he could tolerate things in his own.
He ran out of blue light bulbs as he reached the end of the strand on the edge of the garage. Martha approached with a critical eye as she handed him a cold beer, and Sam could tell what she was about to say, before she could even say it.
“Sam, I don’t think-”
“I know, Martha. It doesn’t match, but I ran out of blue light bulbs and I don’t want to go running off to the store just yet. Let a man rest on his day off for once, and I’ll pick up some more on the way home from work tomorrow."
“It’s just that I want everything to be-”
“Perfect, I know. But the party won’t be until the day after tomorrow, and I promise that I’ll get it up first thing after I get home. I promise, love.”
She made a face and handed him his beer. “You better call it a day then, I don’t want you drinking and up on that latter. It’s dangerous.”
“I’ve only had one sip, not a six-pack.” he hissed. “A unicorn falling from the sky is far more likely to happen than me falling off this ladder. Now let me finish my work.”
A great shadow passed over him and for a moment Sam thought that a plane had passed too low to the ground, but there was no sound of an engine, except from far away. There was a great thud behind him that he felt more than heard. “Oh, look Sam!” Martha exclaimed, as a big wooden crate came to rest in their front yard, crushing the birdbath even as the parachute connected to the cargo tangled itself in the nearby tree.
So much for having the yard perfect the day after tomorrow, Sam thought. No way we can replace the birdbath in time. And I’m damn sure that the crate dug a groove in the lawn.
“What do you think it is?” Martha asked as they approached the wooden crate.
“Only one way to tell.” Sam said. “Bring me my crowbar from the top of my tool chest.” Sam circled the crate, looking for any distinguishing markings. All he found was a small card stapled to the top that read “Einhorn Exotics box 7 of 20.” There was no address nor a telephone number. He tapped on the side of the box, but it sounded mostly hollow. He had heard of things falling from planes before, but mostly it was just engine parts or frozen passenger poop. Never something that had been a part of actual cargo. He wondered what it would be worth.
He started prying open the side of the crate, as Martha watched from a safe distance. While she was curious as to what the box held, she was also afraid that what they were doing was illegal. “I think we should call the police, Sam. It’s not ours and maybe someone will give us a reward if we give it back to them intact.”
“Don’t you know that these things are usually insured up the wazoo?” Sam asked. “So whomever lost it will be reimbursed. In the meantime maybe we’ll find something that’s worth the price of replacing our birdbath.”
A few wooden planks pried off, and the side of the crate gave way. In the depths of the dark interior Sam could hear the sound of breathing. “What the hell could it be?” he asked. He continued to look inside the dark box while Martha fetched a flashlight to give them a better look at the cargo.
“It’s some kind of beast,” Sam said. He wondered if the creature was dying, but the box had drifted down with the help of the parachute, so he doubted that the ride had cause the thing any major harm. He remembered that some animals had to be heavily sedated before taking long trips in a plane and chalked that up to the creature’s lethargy. Even in the beam of the flashlight he couldn’t quite make out what it was. It seemed to be build almost like a mule or small horse. Its hide was mostly black, but with zebra stripes along its legs and rear. The head and ears reminded him of a mule deer. And rising from its forehead was a single black horn, that spiraled toward the back of the beast.
Slowly it opened its eyes and got to its feet. “Easy now, boy.” Sam said, suddenly wishing that he had followed his wife’s advise and left the crate closed. But there was no going back now, as the creature began to walk toward the sunlight. When Sam looked over his shoulder, Martha was nowhere to be found. I hope she’s calling animal control, Sam thought. But no, she returned a moment later with a mixing bowl full of water and a few carrots dangling form her hand.
“What are you up to with all that?” he asked her.
“The thing looks like it’s had a long trip, Sam. Maybe it could use some refreshments.”
Oh there she goes again, he thought. If she’s not making the neighbor’s happy, she’s trying to help some stray animal. He shook his head and was about to walk away, leaving her to tend the animal, when he saw the creature charge. He pushed his wife out of the way of what would have been a fatal blow. As it was, he became entangled in the creature’s horn and as it ran off down the block, it took Sam with it.
He held onto the beast with all his strength as he tried to disengage himself from the animal. He was carried for what seemed like an hour, though he was later told that the incident had only taken fifteen minutes. The thing rampaged through the manicured lawns of his city and tried to make a break for it by jumping into the manmade lake. At some point during the journey, Sam was certain that he would drown thanks to the creature and lost consciousness about the time that animal control became aware of the being that threatened the city’s tranquility.
Sam was rescued after the creature was brought down by a tranquilizer dart. When he was released from the hospital, all in time for the barbeque and the festivities of the black party, Sam noticed that some thoughtful neighbor had changed the white light bulb on the edge of the garage to a blue one and had finished all the lights in front of the house as well. The birdbath had been replaced and a large settlement had been offered to pay recompense for the damages the creature had caused. It seemed that Einhorn Exotics dealt with mutated creatures found in nature and transported them to the highest bidder. The “unicorn” that dropped on Sam and Martha’s front lawn had been born in a local zoo and was on its way to a private collector in New York.
And try as he might, Sam could not relax and enjoy himself during the festivities. While everything had been deemed ‘perfect’ when he returned home, there was one small detail that nagged at him. As the fireworks exploded overhead, they highlighted the new birdbath that sported a streamlined unicorn rearing at its center. And while this little detail would not have bothered him a week earlier. The only unicorn Sam wished to see was the beast that took him for a ride, preferably gutted and cooking on his barbeque.
Friday, May 27, 2011
A Forgotten Fate
This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.
A Forgotten Fate
By Plot Roach
Mitch ran for the cab, sure that he would miss it before it pulled away from the curb. His foot caught on the edge of the sidewalk and he sprawled forward into the street, a car coming to a screeching halt mere inches from his face. He breathed a sigh of relief, even as the driver leaned on his horn, sending him blaring back into reality. He watched as a rain drop landed on the bridge of his nose, almost in slow motion. The coldness of it shocked him as it clashed against his skin. Then time resumed its normal speed and he picked himself up from the hard pavement and stumbled toward the cab that was still waiting for him.
A shudder passed through him and he attributed it to the near fatal accident which he had narrowly avoided. He looked out of the window, into the rain streaked road and saw three women glare at him from the very spot he almost met his end. When he could not hold their predatory stare any longer, he turned away and looked down to his briefcase, now scuffed and damp from the encounter. When he managed the courage to look back at them, they were gone.
Back in his office, he unloaded his briefcase and was elated to find that the manuscript had suffered no ill effects from the afternoon’s encounter. The pages were old and fragile as dragonfly wings, the smell of history wafted off of them like a fine perfume. He turned each page carefully, as if touching an ethereal lover that might vanish if he breathed too deeply upon it. The phone rang, sounding too loud for his ears, jerking him taut in his chair.
“Hello?” he asked. “This is Dr. Barnes.”
“Do you have it?” the voice on the other end of the phone asked.
“Yes, Dr. Landun. I was able to find it and bring it in. I will be here in my office, examining it until my class at seven this evening.”
The two men made arrangements for the manuscript to be safely viewed before it would be locked away in the university’s private vault. Mitch was tempted to have his secretary scan the papers into the computer, but was unsure as to what the light form modern technology would do to the frail forms. He settled back down in his chair, aware of everything that surrounded him, from the humming of the air conditioner to the smell of the leather top of his desk. Nothing was lost on him, not even the heartbeat of the person who now slipped into his office.
She did not use the door to enter, and she could not have come in by means of the window, since his office was on the third floor. One moment he had been alone with the manuscript and his thoughts, and the next instant she was simply there, as if by some magician’s trick.
“I will not ask you how you got here.” he said. “Because quite a great deal of odd things have happened since I obtained this manuscript, but I will ask you who you are and what your presence here means to me?”
“You are not naïve to the ways of the gods, then?” she asked. She moved across the room as gracefully as a hunting cat and as light on her feet as a ballerina.
“I should think not, I have been a professor of mythology for ten years, and an avid student since I could pick up a book.”
“Then you should know that what you have there is of great consequence to the Old Ones.”
“It is a collection of stories from an unknown scribe.” he said. “And although I have no means to date them as of yet, I am sure that the stories told here date back to almost the beginning of Greek history.”
“It is more than that, Mitch Barnes. It is a history of the gods themselves.”
“And how would you know this?”
“Because I have been following that manuscript since it was created, waiting for the right time for its truth to be unveiled to the world.”
“You look no older than my students, miss.”
“I assure you that I am the oldest thing in this room -nay, in this university.”
“Are you a god?” he asked.
“Nothing so powerful.”
“A Muse?”
“Nothing so flighty.”
“Then what sort of creature are you?” he asked.
“If you study us so greatly, then you must have heard of my sisters: Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos.”
“The fates.” he said. “The one who spins, the one who measures and the one who cuts. They determine a person’s fate as soon as they are born, and nothing can divert it, not even the gods. There were only the three, I have never heard of a forth.”
She thrust her chin forward with a slight pout and for all the world reminded him of his daughter at a younger age. For all of her bravado, she looked as fragile as a butterfly and he wanted to reach over the desk and smooth a stray lock of hair to its rightful place back behind her ear. Yet he knew even as he felt this way, that she was a creature of myth and magic. And that if he let his guard down for even the slightest moment he might find himself tortured for all eternity in the Greek underworld, or transformed into some ridiculous beast.
“You have never heard of the forth -until now.” she corrected. “I am Alyssus, the one who tangles.”
“The one who tangles?” he asked.
She glared at him and he dared ask no further questions. “Sometimes, while a person's fate cannot be changed, it can be averted if only for a few moments. When something needs to be found or someone needs to finish a task, it is my job to give the extra time that is needed.”
“But isn’t that cheating?” he asked, immediately regretting the fact that he had opened his mouth.
“Is it cheating when you implant an elderly patient with a pacemaker, or give the organs from the dead into one who is terminally ill? What about the medications which prolong the lives of your people, and the inoculations which keep them from illness and certain death?”
“I never thought about it that way, but you’re right.”
“Now that we have an understanding, shut up an listen. I am the one who takes the thread of life and tangles it in such a way that the other fates must spend the time tracking down the right life in order to end it. But in the process, they have no other alternative but to extend the lives of the few that are entangled in order to make sure that they end the right one. Do you understand?”
“The accident this afternoon? Was that you?”
“Now the professor gets it!” she said. “I needed you to bring the manuscript here, so that it could be studied and the truth could be told.”
“What have you done in order to get it here, besides sparing my life, that is?”
“I arranged for the scribe to write the manuscript, for a messenger to take it to a library where it would be stored safely until it could be hidden in a temple whose ruins would later be discovered by another of my ‘tangled souls’, it would be set aside in his personal effects until it was sold to a book dealer and would eventually come into your possession. And you, dear man, brought it here for me.”
“And I will write a book on it, making its contents famous.”
“No, dear. You have already done your part. And now the knot is untangled and I can spare you no longer from your death.”
“What? But I can do so much more for you!” Mitch cried out. “Think of the connections I have in this university, think of my past and how it will add credibility to your manuscript.”
“I appreciate the offer, Mitch. But we both know that I cannot delay my sisters forever from their hunt. Besides, Dr. Landun will be here soon. He will take credit for finding the manuscript and make sure it falls into the right hands.”
Mitch tried to argue further, but the lancing pain in his chest robbed him of his final breath. The forth fate shimmered and disappeared like a mirage, while three women crept forward from the shadows. He knew them instantly, for he had seen them at the scene of the failed car accident. He put a hand out to stop them, as if he could appeal to their better nature. A long red thread passed from the first one, her hands permanently dyed and calloused from the many years she had formed the cord. It was measured by the second, who squinted at it as she held it against a knotted silver chain. The third stepped forward and brandished shears rusted dark with age, that carried an edge Mitch knew without touching that was sharper than anything mankind had ever made. Slinkt! And the office fell to silence, the thread unraveling as the professor’s blood cooled in his veins. The three women paced back into the darkness, their job done for the moment.
A Forgotten Fate
By Plot Roach
Mitch ran for the cab, sure that he would miss it before it pulled away from the curb. His foot caught on the edge of the sidewalk and he sprawled forward into the street, a car coming to a screeching halt mere inches from his face. He breathed a sigh of relief, even as the driver leaned on his horn, sending him blaring back into reality. He watched as a rain drop landed on the bridge of his nose, almost in slow motion. The coldness of it shocked him as it clashed against his skin. Then time resumed its normal speed and he picked himself up from the hard pavement and stumbled toward the cab that was still waiting for him.
A shudder passed through him and he attributed it to the near fatal accident which he had narrowly avoided. He looked out of the window, into the rain streaked road and saw three women glare at him from the very spot he almost met his end. When he could not hold their predatory stare any longer, he turned away and looked down to his briefcase, now scuffed and damp from the encounter. When he managed the courage to look back at them, they were gone.
Back in his office, he unloaded his briefcase and was elated to find that the manuscript had suffered no ill effects from the afternoon’s encounter. The pages were old and fragile as dragonfly wings, the smell of history wafted off of them like a fine perfume. He turned each page carefully, as if touching an ethereal lover that might vanish if he breathed too deeply upon it. The phone rang, sounding too loud for his ears, jerking him taut in his chair.
“Hello?” he asked. “This is Dr. Barnes.”
“Do you have it?” the voice on the other end of the phone asked.
“Yes, Dr. Landun. I was able to find it and bring it in. I will be here in my office, examining it until my class at seven this evening.”
The two men made arrangements for the manuscript to be safely viewed before it would be locked away in the university’s private vault. Mitch was tempted to have his secretary scan the papers into the computer, but was unsure as to what the light form modern technology would do to the frail forms. He settled back down in his chair, aware of everything that surrounded him, from the humming of the air conditioner to the smell of the leather top of his desk. Nothing was lost on him, not even the heartbeat of the person who now slipped into his office.
She did not use the door to enter, and she could not have come in by means of the window, since his office was on the third floor. One moment he had been alone with the manuscript and his thoughts, and the next instant she was simply there, as if by some magician’s trick.
“I will not ask you how you got here.” he said. “Because quite a great deal of odd things have happened since I obtained this manuscript, but I will ask you who you are and what your presence here means to me?”
“You are not naïve to the ways of the gods, then?” she asked. She moved across the room as gracefully as a hunting cat and as light on her feet as a ballerina.
“I should think not, I have been a professor of mythology for ten years, and an avid student since I could pick up a book.”
“Then you should know that what you have there is of great consequence to the Old Ones.”
“It is a collection of stories from an unknown scribe.” he said. “And although I have no means to date them as of yet, I am sure that the stories told here date back to almost the beginning of Greek history.”
“It is more than that, Mitch Barnes. It is a history of the gods themselves.”
“And how would you know this?”
“Because I have been following that manuscript since it was created, waiting for the right time for its truth to be unveiled to the world.”
“You look no older than my students, miss.”
“I assure you that I am the oldest thing in this room -nay, in this university.”
“Are you a god?” he asked.
“Nothing so powerful.”
“A Muse?”
“Nothing so flighty.”
“Then what sort of creature are you?” he asked.
“If you study us so greatly, then you must have heard of my sisters: Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos.”
“The fates.” he said. “The one who spins, the one who measures and the one who cuts. They determine a person’s fate as soon as they are born, and nothing can divert it, not even the gods. There were only the three, I have never heard of a forth.”
She thrust her chin forward with a slight pout and for all the world reminded him of his daughter at a younger age. For all of her bravado, she looked as fragile as a butterfly and he wanted to reach over the desk and smooth a stray lock of hair to its rightful place back behind her ear. Yet he knew even as he felt this way, that she was a creature of myth and magic. And that if he let his guard down for even the slightest moment he might find himself tortured for all eternity in the Greek underworld, or transformed into some ridiculous beast.
“You have never heard of the forth -until now.” she corrected. “I am Alyssus, the one who tangles.”
“The one who tangles?” he asked.
She glared at him and he dared ask no further questions. “Sometimes, while a person's fate cannot be changed, it can be averted if only for a few moments. When something needs to be found or someone needs to finish a task, it is my job to give the extra time that is needed.”
“But isn’t that cheating?” he asked, immediately regretting the fact that he had opened his mouth.
“Is it cheating when you implant an elderly patient with a pacemaker, or give the organs from the dead into one who is terminally ill? What about the medications which prolong the lives of your people, and the inoculations which keep them from illness and certain death?”
“I never thought about it that way, but you’re right.”
“Now that we have an understanding, shut up an listen. I am the one who takes the thread of life and tangles it in such a way that the other fates must spend the time tracking down the right life in order to end it. But in the process, they have no other alternative but to extend the lives of the few that are entangled in order to make sure that they end the right one. Do you understand?”
“The accident this afternoon? Was that you?”
“Now the professor gets it!” she said. “I needed you to bring the manuscript here, so that it could be studied and the truth could be told.”
“What have you done in order to get it here, besides sparing my life, that is?”
“I arranged for the scribe to write the manuscript, for a messenger to take it to a library where it would be stored safely until it could be hidden in a temple whose ruins would later be discovered by another of my ‘tangled souls’, it would be set aside in his personal effects until it was sold to a book dealer and would eventually come into your possession. And you, dear man, brought it here for me.”
“And I will write a book on it, making its contents famous.”
“No, dear. You have already done your part. And now the knot is untangled and I can spare you no longer from your death.”
“What? But I can do so much more for you!” Mitch cried out. “Think of the connections I have in this university, think of my past and how it will add credibility to your manuscript.”
“I appreciate the offer, Mitch. But we both know that I cannot delay my sisters forever from their hunt. Besides, Dr. Landun will be here soon. He will take credit for finding the manuscript and make sure it falls into the right hands.”
Mitch tried to argue further, but the lancing pain in his chest robbed him of his final breath. The forth fate shimmered and disappeared like a mirage, while three women crept forward from the shadows. He knew them instantly, for he had seen them at the scene of the failed car accident. He put a hand out to stop them, as if he could appeal to their better nature. A long red thread passed from the first one, her hands permanently dyed and calloused from the many years she had formed the cord. It was measured by the second, who squinted at it as she held it against a knotted silver chain. The third stepped forward and brandished shears rusted dark with age, that carried an edge Mitch knew without touching that was sharper than anything mankind had ever made. Slinkt! And the office fell to silence, the thread unraveling as the professor’s blood cooled in his veins. The three women paced back into the darkness, their job done for the moment.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Beauty in Nature
This is a work of fiction. No real people, places or events were used. Copyright ã 2011 Plot Roach.
Beauty in Nature
By Plot Roach
Gene put the bait on the hook before hanging it an inch above the water. The rotting chicken smell would entice the alligator to jump for the bait and land the hook squarely in its gut if all went according to plan. Normally he would tie a brightly colored cloth around the tree trunk that the line was anchored to, but since he was hunting gator out of season, he put a mark on his map instead. Not that many police would be patrolling the waters of his backyard bijou, but he did not want to take the chance.
Twenty traps baited and three hours later, he turned the boat for home. He eyed the places he had baited and made a quick prayer to God and the spirits of the swamp that he and his family would not go hungry much longer. He lost his job down at the factory, and waited for the unemployment, his wife having given up her career three years ago to raise their twin boys. Money was tight, and the bills piled higher every day. They had to make due by cutting back on what they could, and getting creative to make ends meet whenever possible.
His father had taught him that not all food came from the supermarket. And as a child, he learned fishing, hunting frogs and even which snakes were poisonous and to be avoided at all cost while others were destined for the stewpot. But gator was another matter. Even hunted out of season, there were those that would pay a handsome dollar for both the meat and the hide, provided the animal caught was big enough.
Gene followed the advice of his father and grandfather before him, cutting himself on the hand and sending a few drops of blood into the water at each baited site in order to offer up thanks for the bounty that each line promised.
The following morning he checked his traps, and a gator had taken the bait in each one. He hunted alone, which was not the tradition among the usual hunters of these primordial beasts. One man usually held the line straight that anchored the gator while the other shot it in the head with a rifle. And while Gene felt it was not sporting at times, he doubted that the animal on the other end of the line would give him a second chance, should he slip into the water in front of some hungry brute.
So as he hunted alone, he depended on pulling the bait line with one hand as he aimed and shot with rifle with the other. It was hard work, and he was rewarded with nineteen of the heavily armored creatures ranging in size from six feet to twelve in a pile in his boat. He smiled with the miracle that had been bestowed upon him and aimed the boat for the last of the baited traps, thinking of all the bills that he could pay once he unloaded his catch. I am thankful for what I have been given here today, Lord. He thought. Just let me know what I can do in return for your bounty.
The last trap, the creature surfaced without a fuss, unlike its scaly brethren. And when its head hit the surface of the water, Gene gasped at its beauty. Most of the reptiles he had pulled up out of the water this day had been dark, with mottled hides. Some chewed up with clashes with others of their kind or been scarred from run ins with the blades of fishing boats. But this creature was truly exceptional in Gene’s opinion, for the green of its hide was highlighted by a crisscross of a gold patterning like sunlight shining down through the branches of the swamp trees. The creature held still, studying him as much as he studied it. His first thought was of just how much the thing’s hide would fetch at market. But he felt a chill up his spine, and knew what he should do. He had been blessed with nineteen other beasts whose death would more than pay the expenses he owed. He should let this beauty free.
Quickly, before he lost his nerve, he pulled his knife free from his belt and cut the creature loose, remembering too late that the thing still had a hook in its gut. He could not remember form his father’s teaching whether such a thing was fatal or if it could pass the hook through its digestive tract. By the time he made it to the edge of the swamp and unloaded his catch into the back of his truck, his mood had gone from elated to somber, now convinced that the creature would die because of his foolishness. He received high prices for his day’s work and drove home to hand the money to his wife. Upon seeing his mood, she asked him what had happened and she chastised him for letting the beast go free.
“It could have brought us more money than all the other hides you caught today.”
“Yes, but it was too beautiful kill.” He said.
“Be careful, husband.” she warned. “Isn’t nature filled with beautiful things that use beauty to their advantage?”
He nodded, and excused himself to sit out on the back porch. And while it was not the same solitude of the swamp, it let him reflect on the day’s events and on the words of his beloved wife. He sipped a cold beer and could not get his mind off of the golden scaled alligator. His thoughts seemed to make the memory so real it was like the creature was sitting in the water in front of him. But then the vision changed, and before him was a lovely woman, heavy of bosom, slim of waist and with dark hair displaying highlights of gold. She beckoned to him with open arms from the water even as her reptile eyes froze him in place. He felt an unnatural calm come over him and was drawn to her like a magnet. About to jump into the water after her, the vision was shattered by a gunshot. His wife, standing from the back porch had fired upon the creature, which now reverted to its alligator form.
He helped her drag the beast out of the water, where he took it to the back shed and quickly skinned it. She took the meat into the kitchen as he went to work, salting the hide until it could be properly tanned.
At the end of the night, as he sat down to the table with his wife and two sons, he took a bite of his dinner: deep fried alligator. He chewed slowly, savoring the taste as he thought about what she had looked like in the water. And he marveled at how such a creature that had survived millions of years, several mass extinctions and had more magic in its hide than he could ever imagine in a lifetime, succumbed to something as simple as a bullet before being rolled in flour and cooked for two and a half minutes in boiling vegetable oil.
Beauty in Nature
By Plot Roach
Gene put the bait on the hook before hanging it an inch above the water. The rotting chicken smell would entice the alligator to jump for the bait and land the hook squarely in its gut if all went according to plan. Normally he would tie a brightly colored cloth around the tree trunk that the line was anchored to, but since he was hunting gator out of season, he put a mark on his map instead. Not that many police would be patrolling the waters of his backyard bijou, but he did not want to take the chance.
Twenty traps baited and three hours later, he turned the boat for home. He eyed the places he had baited and made a quick prayer to God and the spirits of the swamp that he and his family would not go hungry much longer. He lost his job down at the factory, and waited for the unemployment, his wife having given up her career three years ago to raise their twin boys. Money was tight, and the bills piled higher every day. They had to make due by cutting back on what they could, and getting creative to make ends meet whenever possible.
His father had taught him that not all food came from the supermarket. And as a child, he learned fishing, hunting frogs and even which snakes were poisonous and to be avoided at all cost while others were destined for the stewpot. But gator was another matter. Even hunted out of season, there were those that would pay a handsome dollar for both the meat and the hide, provided the animal caught was big enough.
Gene followed the advice of his father and grandfather before him, cutting himself on the hand and sending a few drops of blood into the water at each baited site in order to offer up thanks for the bounty that each line promised.
The following morning he checked his traps, and a gator had taken the bait in each one. He hunted alone, which was not the tradition among the usual hunters of these primordial beasts. One man usually held the line straight that anchored the gator while the other shot it in the head with a rifle. And while Gene felt it was not sporting at times, he doubted that the animal on the other end of the line would give him a second chance, should he slip into the water in front of some hungry brute.
So as he hunted alone, he depended on pulling the bait line with one hand as he aimed and shot with rifle with the other. It was hard work, and he was rewarded with nineteen of the heavily armored creatures ranging in size from six feet to twelve in a pile in his boat. He smiled with the miracle that had been bestowed upon him and aimed the boat for the last of the baited traps, thinking of all the bills that he could pay once he unloaded his catch. I am thankful for what I have been given here today, Lord. He thought. Just let me know what I can do in return for your bounty.
The last trap, the creature surfaced without a fuss, unlike its scaly brethren. And when its head hit the surface of the water, Gene gasped at its beauty. Most of the reptiles he had pulled up out of the water this day had been dark, with mottled hides. Some chewed up with clashes with others of their kind or been scarred from run ins with the blades of fishing boats. But this creature was truly exceptional in Gene’s opinion, for the green of its hide was highlighted by a crisscross of a gold patterning like sunlight shining down through the branches of the swamp trees. The creature held still, studying him as much as he studied it. His first thought was of just how much the thing’s hide would fetch at market. But he felt a chill up his spine, and knew what he should do. He had been blessed with nineteen other beasts whose death would more than pay the expenses he owed. He should let this beauty free.
Quickly, before he lost his nerve, he pulled his knife free from his belt and cut the creature loose, remembering too late that the thing still had a hook in its gut. He could not remember form his father’s teaching whether such a thing was fatal or if it could pass the hook through its digestive tract. By the time he made it to the edge of the swamp and unloaded his catch into the back of his truck, his mood had gone from elated to somber, now convinced that the creature would die because of his foolishness. He received high prices for his day’s work and drove home to hand the money to his wife. Upon seeing his mood, she asked him what had happened and she chastised him for letting the beast go free.
“It could have brought us more money than all the other hides you caught today.”
“Yes, but it was too beautiful kill.” He said.
“Be careful, husband.” she warned. “Isn’t nature filled with beautiful things that use beauty to their advantage?”
He nodded, and excused himself to sit out on the back porch. And while it was not the same solitude of the swamp, it let him reflect on the day’s events and on the words of his beloved wife. He sipped a cold beer and could not get his mind off of the golden scaled alligator. His thoughts seemed to make the memory so real it was like the creature was sitting in the water in front of him. But then the vision changed, and before him was a lovely woman, heavy of bosom, slim of waist and with dark hair displaying highlights of gold. She beckoned to him with open arms from the water even as her reptile eyes froze him in place. He felt an unnatural calm come over him and was drawn to her like a magnet. About to jump into the water after her, the vision was shattered by a gunshot. His wife, standing from the back porch had fired upon the creature, which now reverted to its alligator form.
He helped her drag the beast out of the water, where he took it to the back shed and quickly skinned it. She took the meat into the kitchen as he went to work, salting the hide until it could be properly tanned.
At the end of the night, as he sat down to the table with his wife and two sons, he took a bite of his dinner: deep fried alligator. He chewed slowly, savoring the taste as he thought about what she had looked like in the water. And he marveled at how such a creature that had survived millions of years, several mass extinctions and had more magic in its hide than he could ever imagine in a lifetime, succumbed to something as simple as a bullet before being rolled in flour and cooked for two and a half minutes in boiling vegetable oil.
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