Tag: fiction

An Awakening

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Dave awoke in the middle of the forest, bloody and dazed. His clothes were ragged and every muscle that didn’t cramp deeply ached.

He could not quite remember the night before. He had been drinking. Then he had been yelling. His friends had tried to quieten him, but having started drinking at dawn, dusk found him feeling invincible.

His friends sat around the campfire, telling stories about monsters and ghosts. Dave had settled in to heckle, his friends finding this to be enough of an improvement to not put much energy into quietening him. None of them knew who had invited Dave, so when he declared that it was his turn to tell a story, each of them expected someone else to rein him in.

It was a drunken slur of words, but the gist was “fuckin’ werewolves, they’re the coolest“. Dave then showed off the bitemark on his shin, claiming that he had been bitten by something on a forest path weeks ago. It did not look cursed to anyone there. It looked infected, but Dave insisted he had put enough vodka on it to keep it clean. Once he had heard enough murmured appreciation, Dave returned his attention to finishing the beer he had brought for the group.

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Autonomy

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There are strangers at the windows
They wear the faces of friends
But the skin fits loosely
and I heard them meet their ends

It was rare at first, the odd complaint
A ceaseless itch beneath the skin
soon the muscles were not their own
their screams strained through rictus grins

They insist it is so much better
A life with such clear direction
It is still them, happy inside
I must simply let go of my connection

It would be so simple to do
To let go of my concern and control
but instead I draw the curtains
and hope that my defences hold

I am unhappy and I am scared
but they are my own experience
For now I am my miserable self
not blissful in bridled deference

The Planner

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Hal washed his hands thoroughly before sitting at the desk. He looked through the “To-Do” list, ticking off the completed items. It was hard to concentrate, but he re-checked the day’s agenda to see if he had missed any.

  • Remove rotten sections. Check. He’d done the bulk of the work with a saw, but he’d made sure to get into the smaller sections with a craft knife.
  • Sand. Check. It had taken three sheets of course paper to get the entire surface done.
  • Scour. Check. The steel wool was almost in pieces by the time he was done and he had used up most of the bottle of bleach.

Hal sighed and leaned back. The creator of the list had clearly had some fun putting it in alphabetical order, but it did not seem like the easiest way to get everything done. Still, he would follow the list to the letter.

He checked the remaining items:

  • Segment
  • Throttle
  • Throw away
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Three Sentence Stories (Part 9)

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There are ten of us, poor beyond belief, but together we have just enough money to pull one of us out of poverty. We have each signed wills leaving everything to a blank beneficiary and we shoot back our drinks at the same time. It should take less than a minute to find out who gets to try a new life and who gets to escape entirely.

Sydney had never noticed the door, despite it sitting between the two windows in her lounge-room. Her attention was only drawn to it when she heard knocking and as she approached, she heard her late husband calling to her. Without thinking, she opened and walked through the door on the 17th floor of her building.

At last, Nate had all the parts to restore the classic car he and his father had worked on when he was a teenager. His father had died midway through restoring it, crushed when the propped car fell on top of him.

Nate still felt that he had been justified to drop it after finding out it was going to be sold and not gifted to him.

The Woman at my Door

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There is the outline of a woman through my front door. Every few minutes I hear her shuffle and knock again. I do not open the door.

Since living alone I had gotten into the habit of peering through the curtains of the front bay window to check who was visiting me before answering the door. Tonight that habit has certainly saved my life.

What looked like a woman from the front went very wrong from the side.

The legs are bent backwards while the thin torso is hunched to hide unexpected height. I watch quietly as it knocks and notice that the arm is connected much closer to its stomach than shoulder. It sways slightly, trying to keep balance in this awkward position.

I am unable to stop myself from peeking at it. It is a mound of features so madly put together that I cannot comprehend how it can be standing there. I try to see its face, unsure of whether a human or monstrous face would be better. It is simply a featureless mound.

I see movement from the torso and duck back behind the curtain. It does not knock and I wait in silence for several minutes before looking again.

There is the outline of a woman through my bay window. Its face now stares at me and I had guessed very wrongly about where that would be.

Down to the Shore

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Please go to sleep, dear child
Do not go down to the shore
We have locked the doors and windows
But so have parents before

Do not leave your bed, little one
Where you are safe and warm
I know that you hear the song
Calling you into the rising storm

I have heard what calls you there
I remember my childhood thrall
A voice that spoke over my dreams
Until I awoke only feet from the shore

We both miss childhood friends
Who walked into the dark swell
They will not return to us
Where they went, the sea will not tell

We are both so tired, my child
I cannot keep you safe with me
But if I wake and find you gone,
I will follow your footprints into the sea.

Pressure

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He only meant to lie down for a minute
But soon found hours passed by
The TV showed scenes from a simple script
A life of work, rest and repetition
A role someone else would take
He could no longer play of his own volition

He did not rise when the sun rose
He did not answer the ringing phone
The knocks at the door received no answer
In time the world stopped trying to reach inside
He did not know if he wanted the help
But he never tried to reach outside

He lay, surrounded by comfort
cushions and fabrics pressing deeply
no clear definition between fabric and flesh
The lack of pressure was crushing
But at last he had no role to fill
And he was free to be nothing


Two Sentence Stories (Part 11)

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There was yet another “help wanted” sign in the butcher’s window. This time it went unanswered, as word spread that they never took deliveries.

He plunged the knife into the blanketed figure on the bed. He realised too late that the recipient was far too soft to be a real body: he already felt a knife stab through his foot from under the bed.

It is so much cheaper to pay out a life insurance policy than to pay for a lifetime disability. For this reason, each bottle of wine was accompanied by a “Get Well Soon!” card had an imperceptible syringe hole through the cork.

Home Visit

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Susan found herself anxiously cleaning the loungeroom again.

Her fear of being discovered only slightly outweighed her fear of becoming a pathetic anecdote. She knew the appointment was a stupid idea, but in equal measure she did not believe that she was a stupid person. So, she cleaned the room until she was certain it would meet the standards of an operating theatre.

It was only a few injections, anyway. She did not think much could go wrong from something so small. Also, it was an early birthday present and she deserved it. Something about the looming spectre of turning 30 had made her brave enough to research Botox injections in her area, but not brave enough to risk being seen walking into one of the over-bright receptions. So she had made an appointment at 1pm, the week before her 30th birthday to get rid of some encroaching crows feet and to smooth away her smile-lines.

She was assured over the phone that the results would be subtle enough that no one at her upcoming birthday party would notice. They were, in fact, reassuring about everything except for her natural looks. The photo she sent them, of an objectively beautiful woman, was torn apart as they listed the sites that needed injections.

It was 12:40 when the doorbell rang. Susan was surprised that they were early, but hurried to the door. A woman stood before her, dark hair pulled back into a bun so tight that Susan could not tell if it or medical intervention were responsible for the tautness of the woman’s face. She wore a white smock, white gloves and a white mask over her mouth. She held a white briefcase by her side, with a large red cross on it.

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Impact

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The world is going to end today and most people are ready.

The announcement was made almost a year ago. News anchors who could not keep an even tone reported that the asteroid was on a direct course and would hit the planet. The impact would not be survivable. The world went mad within days.

There was not as much madcap crime as some would think. Some people definitely gave into baser urges, enjoying the immunity to long-term consequences, but this was culled by the lack of consequences for revenge.

The madness was much quieter. For the most part, apathy became the norm. To an onlooker, the population largely followed the same schedule they always had. Public transport still shepherded many to and from work. Most businesses stayed open and whatever hours a person could spend deep in work were a relief from the pressure of their own thoughts.

Churches flourished, including countless new ones, hastily built and manned. Any pre-existing doomsday cult that had posited a date around the projected arrival of the asteroid found sudden popularity. It was estimated that around 20 percent of the world’s population joined one of these, meaning that at least one fifth of the world eagerly awaited the asteroid’s arrival.

When the day finally arrived, most people stayed inside. It was better to drink, to listen to music, to sleep, to talk, to do anything other than wait.

Those who had eagerly awaited judgement day stood outside, watching as the asteroid became visible to the naked eye. They waited eagerly for hours as it approached. They continued staring as it did not quite match the projected angle. Unblinking, tear streaming, they saw the asteroid miss completely.

Around the world, one fifth of the population come to the unanimous and simultaneous decision, unknown to the terrified majority: the end of the world is today, and we are willing to put in the work.