Choices

Tried the ‘get high and write flash fiction’ experiment again.

This is the result.

I have a power.

I’ve never used it, despite its simplicity.

I can take the life from one being, and give it to another.

I can’t die until I use it, but that’s not why I don’t. How could you decide? Who lives, who dies? Even if you could find someone worthy of death, how would you even begin to determine who is worthy of life? I can’t make that choice.

So I don’t.

I stopped making choices at all a long time ago. I travel through the world, watching it play out. It’s been so long that I can see the patterns forming fractals that spiral through reality. Lives begin. Lives end. There are so many. Even if I wanted to use my power, it would be like taking a single second away and giving it to another in the grand scheme.

But I’ve noticed another pattern as time goes by. Two forces, seemingly locked in eternal battle. Some call them good and evil, or light and dark, but the notions seem far too simplistic. Great cruelty is done by both sides as they grind down other lives in their seemingly eternal struggle. One would have everything be uniform, peaceful, lawful, orderly, where everyone conforms to their place. The other would have chaos, freedom, everyone struggling to find their own path, changing with their whims.

Another war. More deaths. Lights flickering in and out. Wastelands left behind.

I see the two beings, and I know they can never reconcile.

And for the first time, I reach out.

And I make a choice.

Old Habits Die Hard

It’s hard to say when exactly Ivan became a zombie. He continued on as he normally did, shambling aimlessly through the village, occasionally waving his arms and shouting nonsense when anyone got within range of his whiskey-clouded eyes. Might have gone on that way until he rotted, if Jimmy hadn’t noticed Ivan’d lost a shoe.

The doctors tried amputating Jimmy’s arm, but I guess they weren’t fast enough. He got two nurses and an orderly before security put him down, only the orderly didn’t tell anyone he’d been bit. He went home to his family, and his little girls went to school the next day, same as they always did. That did it for Madison Elementary’s third and fifth grades.

Even though they were starting to suspect then, too many were slow to put down a child. And then it was too late. I can see the kids from here, still crawling over the jungle gym and slides, but they don’t laugh like they used to. They’ve got a couple teachers looking after them, but Mrs. Slate’s been sitting on the bench since the sheriff blew a hole in her kneecap.

As long as you stay on this side of the fence, you’re safe. They remember the rules, and know they aren’t allowed out until the bell rings. Deputy Majors made sure that won’t happen. His patrol car hasn’t moved since it ran out of gas, but he’s still there, behind the billboard, with his radar gun and ticket book. Not sure what will happen if anyone is ever foolish enough to speed into Madison.

Sun is starting to go down. Time to put the journal around and find Toby’s leash. He’s been a lot more stubborn about walks since his legs rotted off, but I think the fresh air does him good.

Banana Kush

Idea behind this series is to take and edible and then sit down and write and see what happens. All writing will be posted unedited, though I reserve the right to remove or censor bits.

Overall thoughts on Banana Kush – It makes my ADD brain much worse. It’s either hyperfocused or distracted before it completes a thought. There is no in between. It’s nice when combined with a guided meditation or just to listen to music or play a video game. While it did stimulate creative juices as advertised, I found the talking within social settings was pretty much just removing the brain to mouth filter and having thoughts come out of your mouth three seconds before your brain actually processed them. For pain relief, it’s awful. It comes with an increased awareness of your body’s inner workings, which translates to enhanced sensation. If you’ve recently stepped on a screw, as I have, all you’ll be aware of is how badly that one spot on your foot hurts. That said, I have a feeling this would be an awesome one to take before sex, though have a very clear conversation beforehand as you will be very suggestible while on this strain. It did make getting words onto paper very easily, though I’ll note that following any sort of outline would be very difficult. If you are a pantser, this might be one to try. I rate it 7/10.

Initial thoughts:

Banana Kush is a funny one with which to start this project. My brain isn’t linear. I’m starting to act on the conclusion before my brain finishes testing the hypothesis. Unfortunately, sometimes the hypothesis is wrong. I thought of someone I hadn’t given a thought to in years and was starting to look up their number before my brain finished processing that I haven’t seen her in fifteen years, only met her about three times, and don’t even remember her name let alone her number.  Danny’s girlfriend, whom I gave the cups too when Danny helped us move.

Haiku:

Winter fades away

Spring brings new hopes and new dreams

And dog shit to clean

Randomly chosen soundscape:

Shamanic Drumming

Please be quiet.

I can’t even hear myself losing the will to live.

I find myself lost in the silence until it becomes music.

First drums.

A pulse, a heartbeat.

 I quicken and slow, responding to the sounds.

Slow it to perfection, a hair slower and it will quicken once more as it draws in breath.

Winds, dancing in and around the beats.

The taunt pull of tendons lends to the strings.

The same tendons once strung to create the grisly music.

The drums move, and so do I.

It’s not a dance.

Not yet.

The danse macabre lurks in the background still.

Just a movement.

A rhythm heard in the silence.

Start to follow, and the wall blocks your path.

There is an echo, a callback, a drum joining ours.

Each seventh note strikes the fourth, then reverses.

Ebb and flow, fast and slow, never quite matching but always joining.

Together they create a melody.

Close enough now to feel the winds.

They dance around each other, sometimes matching, sometimes opposing, but always stronger together.

It’s a song now, played by an orchestra of two.

The first note of the strings.

Now, it’s a dance.  And I find the will once more.

Randomly Chosen Writing Prompt:

She wasn’t born to be soft and quiet. She was born to make the world shatter and shake at her fingertips.

“She wasn’t born to be soft and quiet.”  The old knight tossed back the mug of mead as though it were a teaspoon of water.  “She was born to make the world shatter and shake at her fingertips.” 

“Princesses always are.” The barman refilled the drink for the third time.

“There is some question as to how much of a princess she really was.”  The knight stared down at the mug.  “Her mother had no royal blood, and even the gods have doubts about her parentage.”

“Whether it was once prince or the other, that’s still royal blood.”  He wiped at his table.  A knight should have better manners than to talk like that in public.

“Prince, stablehand, manservant, guard…”  The knight growled.  The barman flicked his eyes at the table behind him, the one that had grown silent as the knight kept talking.  Either the knight failed to see or simply failed to heed the warning, as he continued.  “She brought that kennelmaster from the far north too, and I’m not sure that man was fully human.”

The silent men were armed lightly but well.  He doubted any man in this town, perhaps even the knight included, could afford arms of the quality each of them wore at their sides.  Both had their faces half hidden behind the hoods of their cloaks.  If they were all men.  One of the three was significantly smaller than the others, perhaps a lad or a woman.  That one was clearly watching the knight.

“It’s getting late.”  The barman watched as the knight emptied the third mug. This time he didn’t reach for the pitcher to refill it.  Trouble was brewing, and he’d just as soon it not be served in his tavern.

“Her mother wasn’t fully human either, they say.  Her grandmother went missing in the swamp for a week and didn’t exactly come back alone.  Oh, they married her off soon enough, but everyone knew Lord Pietrov’s type, and a woman like that sure wasn’t it.”  The old knight’s gesture definitely crossed the line into vulgar, even if they hadn’t been talking about the nobility.  The slender figure set down their drink, and pushed the chair back just a hair.  The other two tensed.  He swallowed.  “Sir Hadir, you asked me to remind you about the early start tomorrow.”

“I did?” The knight blinked, then looked down at his empty mug.  “Why?”

“I didn’t think to question a man of your standing, sir.”  The barman swallowed. The knight’s temper was nothing to scoff at.  If the strangers challenged him, it would come to blood.  He glanced back at their table, and saw the slender figure watching him.  With the light on her face, he could see now that she was a woman.  Eyes just a bit too large and vivid to be fully human met his, and she gave him the barest of nods before picking her drink up again.  “Figured if you asked, it must be important.”

“True enough.”  The knight staggered to his feet, barely remembering to grab his cloak as he stumbled to the door.  “Mark my words though.  The trouble ain’t done yet.”

After the door shut behind him, the barman noted with some surprise that most of the room hadn’t noticed anything amiss.  His serving girl danced from table to table, flicking her skirt out of her way as she served the drinks.  Someone reached up to pinch her, and a glare from his bouncer made the man rethink.  He met the bouncer’s eye, and saw the man’s nod of acknowledgement.  Jakob had noticed, at least, even if he had wisely stayed out of it. As a knight, Hadir could cut down any man in the village and the only way to call him to account would be to petition the lord.  And none here had standing enough for that.

He was starting to relax again when the woman stood and brought her mug to the bar.  Up close her inhuman appearance was unmistakable, but he wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was.  Elves passed through just often enough for him to be sure she wasn’t one.  He gave her a nod as he

refilled her cup.  “Neatly done.”  Her voice was quiet as she raised the glass toward him lightly.

Not human, but pretty enough.  He smiled at her.  “Thank you.”  He swallowed.  “It’s getting late.  Will you and your party be needing rooms?”

She laid a full gold piece on the table.  Thick, heavy, and marked with the sigil of the royals.  No, not just a full gold.  There was a red gem set in the center, sparkling with its own bit of inner light.  He’d only heard of those.  He stared at it, then swallowed.  “Miss, that will just about buy you the whole place and the stables beside.”

“What I’m looking to purchase is a boy.”  He felt a chill go down his spine at her words.  “Twelve summers old, and born during a storm.”  It was hard not to flinch.  “A storm that toppled the oldest tree in the village.”

“There’s no such –”

“Good sir, we both know what the answer would be if I held up a coin worth a thousandth of this and asked the room where I could find such a boy.”  She gave a small shake of her head.  “They’d tell me he’s in your stock room, supposedly helping but really just curled up on the bags of flour reading a book he’s managed to filch.”

Unless he’d moved during the last half hour, that was exactly where Caleb would be.  “He’s not for sale.”

“Everything and everyone is for sale.”  She set a second of the coins down next to the first.  “It’s simply a matter of finding the right price.  You have other children.  Children born to you and your lovely wife.”

“He’s my boy, as much as the others.”  He couldn’t tear his eyes from the coins.  He could buy land for those.  Land that could be passed on to his boys.  Land no lord could take from them.  They could be lords themselves.

“Your wife pulled him from a dead woman’s belly.”  The woman’s voice sounded kind, and her face looked sympathetic.  “Surely you had to wonder.  What could drive a woman that far along to take a journey long enough that none would know her face?  Did you not wonder about the father?”

“I…”  He’d stopped wondering long ago.  Surely anyone looking for the woman would have come along by now.

“We have no intention of seeing the boy come to harm, good sir.  And we will see you well-compensated for the safety and love you’ve provided him over these years.”  She took a deep breath.  “Others who will come will not be as gentle.”

“He…”  He pulled his eyes away from the gold and stared at her.  “Is he in danger?”

“You have been all that has kept him safe these years.”  She exhaled.  “And the danger will spread to the rest of your family.”  Her hand moved from the gold to rest atop his.  “We can keep him safe, but we cannot linger here.  We must be on our way before the moon sets.”

They knew where he was.  They could come for him any time.  “Will you give us time to say our goodbyes?”

“Say them quickly.”  She nodded.  Once he started to turn away, she cleared her throat.  He turned back to her.  “Are you not forgetting something?”  She gestured at the gold.

He stared at it.  Part of him wanted to refuse it.  Caleb had been a gift from the gods.  He swallowed.  And yet that much gold.  He sighed before picking up both gold pieces and putting them into his pocket.

This is as far as I got before my son distracted me by wanting to play a video game, but the words flowed very easily. I wasn’t sure exactly where the story was going, but I do know that the next part was going to involve the mysterious woman taking Caleb about two or three days from the village and then offing the poor kid, and that the coins are forgeries.

A Moonlight Run

The tightly wrapped package tumbled before vanishing into the river below. From the vantage point of the trestle bridge she could just make out the glint of black ocean. Here, though, the river still ran red and brown with frothing earth. More mud than water, washing the trash out to sea.

It wasn’t safe to linger on the bridge. The train schedule was guesswork at best. Safe places to run grew fewer every day. She turned away from the water and continued at a fast jog. Twice around the park, with it’s bright street lamps close together. A left at the antique store, before the corner market. The corner market had hungry eyes and wolf smiles.

The sun had vanished. They grew even bolder in the dark, convinced of their own superiority. Miss the left, and runners risked having a few break off and follow.

Few of the faces were familiar, but still they gathered. Vicious moths to the foul yellow light. Sometimes you could hear them from the park, jeering howls and braying laughter at any poor woman who caught their eye. Faces vanished from their crowd, but it seemed their were always others to take their place.

Second lap, then the left. Perhaps it was time to stop running alone. There had to be others. Take the left, too risky to catch their eye. To great a chance one or more would grow brave, alone or encouraged by others. Perhaps just to frighten, or with darker intent. Better to curb her run with the left turn.

Lock the door. Turn the bolt. Fasten the chain. Check the back. Lock. Bolt. Chain. Visit each window and draw the blinds. Maybe it was time to get a dog. Three drops on the counter, careless. Wipe them away. Careful, careful, always be careful. A. B. C.

She wrapped another package, nice and tight. Half a brick for weight. Two more runs to dispose of the last, and then it would be time. Skip the left, continue to the store. Head down, don’t look, keep moving. One would follow. One always did, emboldened or taunted by the others.

A smile came to her face as she sharpened the knives. Some days it seemed she’d never run out of prey.

The Hunt

The axe gleamed dully in the afternoon light. Its edge was marked with a coat of crimson, still a long way from congealing in the oppressive humidity. A bit of flesh was clumped at one end of the curve, marring the smooth symmetry of the blade. The hand holding the axe was masculine, with long, slightly hairy fingers. A mix of blood and sweat stained the back of the hand.

From his precarious perch in the branch of the sugar maple, the intended prey kept a wary eye on the hand and the axe it held. The tree was not an ideal long-term hiding place, and once the owner of the hand began to search in earnest the prey would be found quickly. The tree had years yet to grow, and offered no viable defenses.

Out of the corner of his eye, the intended victim saw movement. Without hesitation, he leaped from the tree and hit the ground running. Behind him, the accomplice let out a string of curses. The axe moved to intercept and he abruptly changed direction, screaming a cry for help.

The girls watched impassively, long since inured to the scene before them. Lazily, they enjoyed their lunch of salad and leftover carcass. They barely even reacted to the chase cutting through their midst.

With a leap, the intended victim tried to clear the fence but fell short. He whirled back and attempted to use the girls for cover, circling to keep them between himself and the accomplice.

From the other side of the fence came shouts of encouragement and direction to the accomplice, along with laughter. The intended victim ducked inside the structure he called home and sought a place to hide. Behind him, a shadow moved in the opening, and then darkness as a blockade was moved into place.

Trapped! Obviously, his assailants had prepared. The accomplice moved in, trapping him in the corner. Her hands caught him by the legs and swung him upside down. She yelled in triumph as she carried him to the man with the axe. Carefully, the victim gathered his strength for one last bid at freedom and life. He waited until the accomplice began to hand him over, and then beat his wings furiously.

He slipped free of the man’s grasp and lighted in the oak tree. Quickly he raced up the branch, beating his wings for speed. One last leap, and he was atop the roof, safe and sound. Victorious and cheered, he let out a long crow.