Fiction

I am taunted by the God of the flies

I am taunted by the God of the flies. At least, I was. I heard Him whisper in every malignant drone past my ear, and laugh at every fruitless swipe.  

I first knew there was such a deity at a young age. From then on, every time I heard or saw His creatures, His voice would get a little louder, a  little more insistent. Eventually, I took precautions. I don’t see too many people these days, but that’s OK. At least I don’t have to listen to that bastard in here. 

Getting in here took cunning, I must tell you. I had to convince a great number of people that I was crazy. It isn’t easy for any sane individual to play the madman. There were times when I thought that even  I might be going crazy, but then I remembered my purpose, and my mind returned to its usual clarity. Like I said, clean, sterile and definitely insect-free. I don’t see anyone in my saferoom, but I don’t hear Him laughing, either

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Fiction

The Follower

This is an exerpt from a short story I am working on.

Deep in the darkness above, an emaciated creature stared blindly with huge, limpid eyes as the small human made its way into the darkness. It sniffed the air lustfully through slitted nostrils on its otherwise featureless face, almost drooling at the power that wafted through the dusty air. The creature waited a few moments before scampering down the pillar silently and following in the boys footsteps, clear in the dust.

As it crept forward, 20 or 30 metres behind and matching pace with the boy, it siphoned fears and memories from the child’s subconcious. As the non-descript creature learned, it changed. Soon it walked confidently after the boy on two human legs, mouth twisting in a smile that belonged on no human face.

 

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Fiction

Once More Unto the Breach, Dear Friends

Chest heaving, the soldier lifted himself on shaking limbs and began leopard-crawling towards the rocky ridge. Bullets whined and shrieked overhead, and dirty sweat stung his eyes. Rolling into the relative safety of the outcropping, he lay on his back gasping for breath and surveyed the field behind him. Garrett was perhaps 10 metres behind, huddled behind a tree against the fury of semi-automatic weaponry. He could see a body, bloody and lifeless, crumpled on the path a little way back. His eyes strained to count epaulets on the shoulder of the corpse. Shit.

“Right, you shitbags, I’m in charge!” he yelled over his shoulder. Bullets buzzed in response, like bees protecting their hive, and he ducked back into his cover. Eyes scanning the ridge that ran diagonally toward their objective, he beckoned his new charges forward, swallowed the terror that rose like bile in his throat.

He moved slowly forward. The screams of the dying soon faded into the haze of adrenaline once again.

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Fiction

The Institute for Advanced Hindsight

‘Institute for Advanced Hindsight’, the sign above the doorway read. As I stepped from the fading industrial zone into this nondescript building , I knew that my time here would be useful.

“Hello, sir,” said a bright and cheerful secretarial voice. ‘I see that you will enjoy your stay.”

I crinkled my brow a little, and looked around the room. The secretary sat off to one side, exactly how I expected her to look. And everything was just as I remembered it. But… I was so sure that this was the first time I had been here. Strange, I thought.

Dr. Abramov stepped through a door that may or may not have been there when I arrived. “How are you feeling, Sean? Comfortable?”

“well, if I had known how I would fit in here, I would have arrived long ago.”

He smiled a knowing smile. “Just so. Now, shall we skip to the end?”

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Fiction

Dwelling on the Gyre

The Gyre is  our home, our source of food, our life. Our everything. We drifted here one day, just like all the other detritus of the world, and stuck. It’s our Gyre now, hundreds of years later, we have made it a city of a sort.

Long ago, when the world was clean and people lived on land, the gyres were just points in the ocean, where organic matter gathered and sank below the waves to replenish the food cycles deep beneath. That time is long past, but we have superceded that ecosystem, in a way. Humans now provide the organic waste, although it doesn’t matter any more. The death of the oceans heralded the greater death to come.

There are other gyres, we are told. Those few strange individuals that ply the waves carry stories of three, some say four, other gyres. It’s not such a bad life, I guess. We could be stuck on the strips of baked earth that remain.

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Fiction

Heart

The heart wants what the heart wants. She pondered on this as she watched her hero, her muse, twisting and cavorting on stage. Her heart knew what her heart wanted, and today it would receive it’s gift. It was glad. 

Later, as she hunched in a pool of congealing blood, the phrase came back to her, and she giggled around a mouthful of chewy flesh. Suddenly, she jumped to her feet, the half-chewed organ clutched  tight in her hand, and tracked bloody footprints into her sanctuary. She gazed around, for the millionth time, at her beautiful creation. Pictures, news items, hand-scribbled notes, set-lists, all connected in a vast and tangled web of heart-lines. Just one space left, in a whole room full of desire. She placed the mangled heart into its place, and watched the blood spread across her network. 

It’s what the heart wanted. 

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Fiction

White Herons

Three white herons winged silently over the sodden landscape. The rain had abated not 5 minutes ago, and a curious silence graced the land. Little remained to show that this had been a grassland a few weeks previously. A few soggy islands were all that attested to what used to be called hill country. Now, it didn’t seem like it would be called anything at all.

The birds seemed to be reveling  the return to the air after being grounded for weeks. The stretch of their wings, the lift of the breeze spoke volumes. Their strident calls carried beautifully across this new body of water, and they raced their reflections from one drowned hill to the next. Far in the distance, a huddled family stood upon their former hillock next to the roofless remains of their house, and watched in bewilderment as the birds enjoyed this new landscape.

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