Here's a more recent one. Wrote it a few months ago. Once again, something completely mundane yields to the strange. I laughed the whole time I wrote this, knowing what the very last line would be and hoping I could set it up right. I think I did a pretty good job. I hope you people find it as funny as I do, though that'll make you as weird as me.
Wish I May
She smiled sweetly and shut the door. It was a good door, he thought. A nice, solid door. Fine grain, polished and stained a wonderful, rich brown. Very probably oak. It was the kind of house that would have an oak door. It would not be, he thought, a good idea to kick it.
His own smile— one that had progressed from hope to anxiety, followed by shame, and ultimately replaced by a reluctant (and totally fake) understanding— began to wilt at the edges. He sighed like he would eject his soul, feeling that he had already done so, exposing it for all (or at least one) to see, only to have it waft away in the draft of a closing door.
Bye-bye.
Auf wiedersehen.
Arrivaderci.
Bon voyage, and don’t forget to write.
He realized he was being melodramatic. He didn’t care. He felt like being melodramatic. It was better than anger. Anger would lead to a lot of other useless feelings, like bitterness and resent.
And a broken foot.
He stepped off the front porch and looked up at the sky. The sun was setting. Some would call it lovely. Some, digging deeper, would call it symbolic. He saw a sunset. It was bright and hurt his eyes, and he could imagine it burning away the hazel there, rendering his eyes pale and sightless. He kept looking, not because he thought it would surrender an answer, nor because he craved the blinding pain. He was neither delusional nor a masochist. He did, however, think it made him look introspective and somewhat classy. And perhaps she would look out, see him being classy, and her heart would be swayed.
He chuckled and scratched the back of his head, tousling curly, red hair. Okay. Maybe a little delusional.
As he turned to walk down the street, he saw a glimmer in the sky. A star. He looked around at the rest of the darkening sky. The first star of the night, it seemed. He almost passed it up, but something made him pause.
First star I see tonight, he thought. What the hell.
“I wish,” he said. “I wish I could be the kind of person she would like. That she would want.” He searched for something else to say, but discovered he felt foolish enough as it was.
He started walking.
***
Sun shining in her eyes from the window was all that brought her close enough to wakefulness to hear the knock at the door. It wasn’t quite panicked, but it could get there, given another five minutes or so. She grumbled an “I’m coming” that would never reach the door and checked her reflection to make sure she was decent.
She stumbled through the hallway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, once again primping before a mirror in the foyer. Though not quite satisfied, she crossed over to the door. The knocking had gotten louder, and not just because of proximity. She jerked the door open and heard a gasp of surprise. She took a small measure of satisfaction in that.
“Yeah, what do you— ” There was not much more to say, as the person on the other side of the door wasn’t at all who she was expecting. Whoever she had been expecting.
The first things she noticed were the eyes. Bright with some of that panic that had begun to show in the intensity of the knocking, but also something in them that smoldered. They were a shade of hazel tending toward green. And something familiar….
The hair came next. The fiercest red this side of Ireland. Curly, almost to the point of ringlets.
And that feeling of familiarity persisted.
The clothes were loose-fitting and obviously belonged to a guy. The pants stayed up only with a helping hand. For all that, they could not completely hide a generous set of curves.
She stared at the girl on the porch and felt her heart quicken.
“Can…can I help you?”
“I gotta tell you,” the girl on the porch said, “I never would’ve pegged you for a lesbian.”
Monday, May 18, 2009
Turtles Have Short Legs
Sarah suggested posting some of my fiction to my blog. Think I might try it. This is a story I wrote about four years ago. It plays with one of my favorite themes: mundane situations suddenly becoming fantastical. Or sometimes just plain strange.
The post's title, by the way, comes from the '70s German punk group, Can. The piano intro is catchy as hell.
Under the Tarp
“Look, all I’m saying is that if you’re sure she’s cheating on you, then dump her.” Brian took a puff on his cigarette, blew smoke out the window. “You’re either the nicest guy I know, or the dumbest.”
“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“I’m just tryin to figure out why you keep putting up with her shit.” Another puff. Another plume of smoke out the window. “The sex must be fantastic.”
Jared kept his hands on the wheel, his eyes on the interstate before them. About fifty yards ahead, there was a large diesel truck hauling a flat-bed trailer. On the trailer was a large . . . thing. Rectangular prism wrapped in tarp. A very big tarp. Jared thought, No tarps were harmed in the making of this movie, and then shook his head.
“That doesn’t explain why I still put up with your shit,” he said.
Brian thought about that a moment and then nodded his agreement. “Yeah, the sex between us is terrible.”
On their left passed a long black smudge that culminated in a great coil of rubber. The shed skin of the elusive roadsnake. The diesel was a little closer now. Loose edges of the tarp flapped and tugged at the thing it was covering. Jared only felt half attached to reality. For some reason, the faded-purple of the interstate’s pavement made him feel like he was in a story. Maybe something about rangers, hobbits, and vagabond wizards. Only for him, there was no ring to destroy, no quest to complete. It was nothing but the Dead Marshes, baby, and his version of Sam sometimes seemed more akin to Gollum, hold the Sméagol.
Jared shrugged, tapped out a rhythmless pattern on the wheel, and said, “I don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
He shifted in his seat and wiggled his foot around to try to shake some of the tension in his shins. He wished he had cruise control.
“I don’t know. You know, if she’s cheating. Or how I’m supposed to find out. Just generally what in the bloody hell I’m supposed to do.”
Brian took a last drag on his cig and flicked the butt out of the car. He rolled up the window. “Well, I think this is a nice start.”
“What is?”
“Actually talking about it instead of keeping your friggin lip buttoned like you usually do. Vent. Call her names. Like, say she’s a bitch.”
“What?”
“C’mon, say it.”
Jared watched another shred of tire go past.
“Saaay it.”
“All right! She’s a bitch.”
“There. Feel better?”
“Not exactly.”
“Now why is she a bitch?”
“What?”
“You called her a bitch. Now tell me why?”
Jared sighed. “Do you have a point?”
“My point is to stop worrying about it. You are young, my friend. You are nearing the prime of your life. There’s plenty of time left. Anyway, it’s not like you were going to marry her.”
Jared didn’t answer. After a moment, Brian looked at him, stricken. “Oh God, don’t tell me you were going to marry her!”
“What?” Jared felt actual surprise. “No!”
Brian calmed a little but still looked wary. “You swear that’s true? There’s no ring hidden away in your desk drawer, is there?”
“No, Brian. I wasn’t going to marry her.”
As if he hadn’t heard him: “Because if there is, then so help me, I will jump out of this car right now!”
“I swear, marriage was never the intent.”
“All right,” Brian said. He shifted to an easier position and took his hand off the door handle. Jared had never seen it go there in the first place. He realized he wasn’t so sure that Brian wouldn’t have jumped out.
He shook his head. Best not to think about it. Ahead, the diesel was closer. The tarp continued to flap and beat. It bulged weirdly in the wind.
“It was just, you know, the average boy-girl relationship. Go to the movies, go to dinner, someplace. Go back to the apartment, fool around.”
“You guys do it?”
“Couple times,” Jared said. “But it was like that was all it’d ever amount to. A little fun, a little pleasure, a little sex. I never felt really intimate with her. I really think that we were just in the right place at the right time, and eventually we would wind down, it would stop working, and we’d say, I don’t know . . . see ya later.”
“So you’re saying there was no real emotional attachment between you.”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Pansy.”
“I thought that was coming.”
“And yet you blundered into it just the same.”
“Bite me.”
“And when you heard she was cheating,” Brian said, “you didn’t confront her because . . . .”
“Because there was no emotional attachment.”
“Right.”
“I guess I wasn’t really mad at her. Disappointed maybe, but not all that mad. So I decided to wait. See if it’s true.”
“Good plan, I guess,” Brian said, rolling down the window with one hand, pulling out a half-crumpled pack of Marlboro Lights with the other. “Don’t lay into her until you know for sure.”
“Yeah. Makes it easier for both of us.”
“Nice guy.”
“You know, I hear they finish last.”
“He who laughs last, laughs best.”
“That doesn’t quite fit.”
“The sentiment’s the same,” Brian said. He puffed a cigarette into ignition, then put pack and lighter away.
“You’re gonna kill yourself with those,” Jared said.
“Gotta die of something,” Brian said.
Ahead, the diesel was only ten yards away. The tarp was bulging severely, too much for the wind to be the cause. Like something was pushing out.
Something bony and white punched through one side of the tarp and unzipped it top to bottom. The ragged edges flapped. The top bulged more than ever and began to split. Whatever was pushing it out retracted for a moment and then slammed upward again. The bulge was slighter than before, but permanent. There was a bang of metal that Jared and Brian could hear over the wake rolling off the car.
“What the hell!” Brian said.
Jared didn’t say anything.
There was another of those impossibly loud bangs and the bulge became more pronounced. A steel bar, horribly distended, peeked through the split in the tarp. With one more bang, a groan and a wrench, the bar gave way to the monstrous force assailing it. Something big and dark erupted out and leaped clear of what could only be a cage.
The only thing Jared could think to do was slam on the brakes. The car swerved, fishtailed, and threatened to spin out, but Jared kept it in control long enough to come to a complete stop. When the car had stopped rolling, he raked his fingers across the seatbelt release, threw open the door, and jumped out onto the interstate. A minute later, Brian was beside him. His cigarette dangled from his bottom lip.
“Shit!” he said.
“What the hell—”
“Shit!” Brian said again.
Ahead, now almost a quarter mile away, the diesel began to slow down, the driver having finally noticed that something might have gone a bit wrong. Neither Jared nor Brian noticed, nor even cared, about the diesel. They were all eyes for the thing that was flying away. It was fast. Already, it was little more than a vague shape very far away. It was, however, still close enough for them to see the spirited little somersault it did, as well as the gout of flame it trumpeted into the sky, as if in celebration of its newfound freedom.
Jared shook his head. “Is that a—”
“Don’t say it,” Brian said.
“I don’t believe it.”
“Shit!” Brian said a third time.
A moment of silence. And then:
“I think it really is. It’s a—”
“Don’t say it.”
The post's title, by the way, comes from the '70s German punk group, Can. The piano intro is catchy as hell.
Under the Tarp
“Look, all I’m saying is that if you’re sure she’s cheating on you, then dump her.” Brian took a puff on his cigarette, blew smoke out the window. “You’re either the nicest guy I know, or the dumbest.”
“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“I’m just tryin to figure out why you keep putting up with her shit.” Another puff. Another plume of smoke out the window. “The sex must be fantastic.”
Jared kept his hands on the wheel, his eyes on the interstate before them. About fifty yards ahead, there was a large diesel truck hauling a flat-bed trailer. On the trailer was a large . . . thing. Rectangular prism wrapped in tarp. A very big tarp. Jared thought, No tarps were harmed in the making of this movie, and then shook his head.
“That doesn’t explain why I still put up with your shit,” he said.
Brian thought about that a moment and then nodded his agreement. “Yeah, the sex between us is terrible.”
On their left passed a long black smudge that culminated in a great coil of rubber. The shed skin of the elusive roadsnake. The diesel was a little closer now. Loose edges of the tarp flapped and tugged at the thing it was covering. Jared only felt half attached to reality. For some reason, the faded-purple of the interstate’s pavement made him feel like he was in a story. Maybe something about rangers, hobbits, and vagabond wizards. Only for him, there was no ring to destroy, no quest to complete. It was nothing but the Dead Marshes, baby, and his version of Sam sometimes seemed more akin to Gollum, hold the Sméagol.
Jared shrugged, tapped out a rhythmless pattern on the wheel, and said, “I don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?”
He shifted in his seat and wiggled his foot around to try to shake some of the tension in his shins. He wished he had cruise control.
“I don’t know. You know, if she’s cheating. Or how I’m supposed to find out. Just generally what in the bloody hell I’m supposed to do.”
Brian took a last drag on his cig and flicked the butt out of the car. He rolled up the window. “Well, I think this is a nice start.”
“What is?”
“Actually talking about it instead of keeping your friggin lip buttoned like you usually do. Vent. Call her names. Like, say she’s a bitch.”
“What?”
“C’mon, say it.”
Jared watched another shred of tire go past.
“Saaay it.”
“All right! She’s a bitch.”
“There. Feel better?”
“Not exactly.”
“Now why is she a bitch?”
“What?”
“You called her a bitch. Now tell me why?”
Jared sighed. “Do you have a point?”
“My point is to stop worrying about it. You are young, my friend. You are nearing the prime of your life. There’s plenty of time left. Anyway, it’s not like you were going to marry her.”
Jared didn’t answer. After a moment, Brian looked at him, stricken. “Oh God, don’t tell me you were going to marry her!”
“What?” Jared felt actual surprise. “No!”
Brian calmed a little but still looked wary. “You swear that’s true? There’s no ring hidden away in your desk drawer, is there?”
“No, Brian. I wasn’t going to marry her.”
As if he hadn’t heard him: “Because if there is, then so help me, I will jump out of this car right now!”
“I swear, marriage was never the intent.”
“All right,” Brian said. He shifted to an easier position and took his hand off the door handle. Jared had never seen it go there in the first place. He realized he wasn’t so sure that Brian wouldn’t have jumped out.
He shook his head. Best not to think about it. Ahead, the diesel was closer. The tarp continued to flap and beat. It bulged weirdly in the wind.
“It was just, you know, the average boy-girl relationship. Go to the movies, go to dinner, someplace. Go back to the apartment, fool around.”
“You guys do it?”
“Couple times,” Jared said. “But it was like that was all it’d ever amount to. A little fun, a little pleasure, a little sex. I never felt really intimate with her. I really think that we were just in the right place at the right time, and eventually we would wind down, it would stop working, and we’d say, I don’t know . . . see ya later.”
“So you’re saying there was no real emotional attachment between you.”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“Pansy.”
“I thought that was coming.”
“And yet you blundered into it just the same.”
“Bite me.”
“And when you heard she was cheating,” Brian said, “you didn’t confront her because . . . .”
“Because there was no emotional attachment.”
“Right.”
“I guess I wasn’t really mad at her. Disappointed maybe, but not all that mad. So I decided to wait. See if it’s true.”
“Good plan, I guess,” Brian said, rolling down the window with one hand, pulling out a half-crumpled pack of Marlboro Lights with the other. “Don’t lay into her until you know for sure.”
“Yeah. Makes it easier for both of us.”
“Nice guy.”
“You know, I hear they finish last.”
“He who laughs last, laughs best.”
“That doesn’t quite fit.”
“The sentiment’s the same,” Brian said. He puffed a cigarette into ignition, then put pack and lighter away.
“You’re gonna kill yourself with those,” Jared said.
“Gotta die of something,” Brian said.
Ahead, the diesel was only ten yards away. The tarp was bulging severely, too much for the wind to be the cause. Like something was pushing out.
Something bony and white punched through one side of the tarp and unzipped it top to bottom. The ragged edges flapped. The top bulged more than ever and began to split. Whatever was pushing it out retracted for a moment and then slammed upward again. The bulge was slighter than before, but permanent. There was a bang of metal that Jared and Brian could hear over the wake rolling off the car.
“What the hell!” Brian said.
Jared didn’t say anything.
There was another of those impossibly loud bangs and the bulge became more pronounced. A steel bar, horribly distended, peeked through the split in the tarp. With one more bang, a groan and a wrench, the bar gave way to the monstrous force assailing it. Something big and dark erupted out and leaped clear of what could only be a cage.
The only thing Jared could think to do was slam on the brakes. The car swerved, fishtailed, and threatened to spin out, but Jared kept it in control long enough to come to a complete stop. When the car had stopped rolling, he raked his fingers across the seatbelt release, threw open the door, and jumped out onto the interstate. A minute later, Brian was beside him. His cigarette dangled from his bottom lip.
“Shit!” he said.
“What the hell—”
“Shit!” Brian said again.
Ahead, now almost a quarter mile away, the diesel began to slow down, the driver having finally noticed that something might have gone a bit wrong. Neither Jared nor Brian noticed, nor even cared, about the diesel. They were all eyes for the thing that was flying away. It was fast. Already, it was little more than a vague shape very far away. It was, however, still close enough for them to see the spirited little somersault it did, as well as the gout of flame it trumpeted into the sky, as if in celebration of its newfound freedom.
Jared shook his head. “Is that a—”
“Don’t say it,” Brian said.
“I don’t believe it.”
“Shit!” Brian said a third time.
A moment of silence. And then:
“I think it really is. It’s a—”
“Don’t say it.”
Monday, April 27, 2009
Expanded Blogging
Trying out linked blogging accounts. Signed up for an account at TypePad to see if it would be possible to get a bit more spread out with this blog.
UPDATE
In retrospect, it's not what I thought it would be. Switching back to the old template
UPDATE
In retrospect, it's not what I thought it would be. Switching back to the old template
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Gotta Love Those Rabbits
My co-worker, Gary, and I have come up with a new phrase pertaining to our ability to pull off the impossible while fixing huge messes at work. That phrase is "pull a rabbit out of your ass." Because, really. Pulling a live rabbit out of that particular cavity would be far more miraculous than simply extracting one from a hat.
If a problem was particularly difficult, you'd say something to the effect of, "Well, I was able to pull out a couple of rabbits." And if it's been a rough day? "Where were you, man? We could've used a few more ass-rabbits."
All of this is a roundabout way of providing context to my Quote of the Day. Because if I just posted it in its regular spot, it wouldn't make a damn bit of sense.
Ahem.
"Desperate times call for ass-rabbits."
Instead of "desperate measures", you see. I might get that copyrighted.
If a problem was particularly difficult, you'd say something to the effect of, "Well, I was able to pull out a couple of rabbits." And if it's been a rough day? "Where were you, man? We could've used a few more ass-rabbits."
All of this is a roundabout way of providing context to my Quote of the Day. Because if I just posted it in its regular spot, it wouldn't make a damn bit of sense.
Ahem.
"Desperate times call for ass-rabbits."
Instead of "desperate measures", you see. I might get that copyrighted.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Good 'n' Evil
Sarah recommended A Spell for Chameleon, one of the Xanth books by Piers Anthony. I'd looked at the title before, when I was into fantasy, but it always seemed too silly. Strangely, now that my tastes have matured, I appreciate silly. I mean. A blanket tree? The Gap Chasm? "Oh no, earthquake! Oh, wait, no. It's just the invisible giant." This is gold.
I've enjoyed seeing Bink progress from naive villager to a more seasoned traveller. The only problem is he is still a bit of a goody-two-shoes. He's a good guy. I get that. He's selfless and loyal. Okay, commendable. That doesn't make him interesting, though. Chameleon is more intriguing, and she spends one-third of her existence as a beautiful airhead. She's a good person, as well. She's loyal to a greater cause, and she keeps public welfare firmly in mind. However, she is also shrewd and clever (in her ugly phase, at least). She's tricksy, precious, oh yes, very tricksy.
But so far, Trent is the star of the show. The Evil Magician, who was exiled twenty years ago as a traitor and usurper of the throne, is by far my favorite character. For a villain, he is quite honorable. He learned long ago that loyalty to his followers would be reciprocated. Moreover, if he made his word his bond, he could trust the same from his men. Though he is accused of being a loathesome despot, he exhibits none of that behavior.
The title of Magician means he has a great power. His particular power is that of Transformation. He can turn any living creature, be it plant or animal, into any other living creature. This became his MO. Any man who opposed him was transformed into something that could not oppose him. That's properly villainous, isn't it? He makes no defense or excuse for his actions. He considered it necessary toward his cause. And yet, when in danger of being devoured by a sea serpent, he is reluctant to transform it, if even temporarily. It is merely doing what comes natural, he reasons, and it is not right for man to come into its demesne and impose his will.
So he is a man of ethics. But he's still right dastardly, wot? He wants to take control of the throne and rule Xanth. And yet, he shows concern for Xanth. He worries that insulation from the outside world will result only in stagnation and the ultimate fall of Xanth. His quest for domination can just as easily become a mission to depose a failing government and to save a land from a king who has lost much of his power and all of his sense. All that separates him from the role of Hero is the limit of action he is willing to take. Will he commit any atrocity to succeed? No. He demonstrates a mindset that the end does not justify the means. But will he go beyond the Heroic "comfort zone". He willingly--even amusedly--accepts the mantle of Villain, as it suits his ultimate purpose as Savior.
This isn't a defense, nor is it a treatise to propose Trent's inherent goodness. He is an antagonist, make no mistake of that. Though allying himself with Bink and Chameleon, he plainly states that, at any future meeting, all bets are off, and if they hinder him, he will dispose of them as he has countless others.
This is just to show that Trent is, by far, the most complex and interesting character in the novel. Though he is the villain, he is incredibly sympathetic. Or maybe, it's not in spite of his supposed villainy, but because of it.
Sometimes, it's the bad guy that makes the story so good.
I've enjoyed seeing Bink progress from naive villager to a more seasoned traveller. The only problem is he is still a bit of a goody-two-shoes. He's a good guy. I get that. He's selfless and loyal. Okay, commendable. That doesn't make him interesting, though. Chameleon is more intriguing, and she spends one-third of her existence as a beautiful airhead. She's a good person, as well. She's loyal to a greater cause, and she keeps public welfare firmly in mind. However, she is also shrewd and clever (in her ugly phase, at least). She's tricksy, precious, oh yes, very tricksy.
But so far, Trent is the star of the show. The Evil Magician, who was exiled twenty years ago as a traitor and usurper of the throne, is by far my favorite character. For a villain, he is quite honorable. He learned long ago that loyalty to his followers would be reciprocated. Moreover, if he made his word his bond, he could trust the same from his men. Though he is accused of being a loathesome despot, he exhibits none of that behavior.
The title of Magician means he has a great power. His particular power is that of Transformation. He can turn any living creature, be it plant or animal, into any other living creature. This became his MO. Any man who opposed him was transformed into something that could not oppose him. That's properly villainous, isn't it? He makes no defense or excuse for his actions. He considered it necessary toward his cause. And yet, when in danger of being devoured by a sea serpent, he is reluctant to transform it, if even temporarily. It is merely doing what comes natural, he reasons, and it is not right for man to come into its demesne and impose his will.
So he is a man of ethics. But he's still right dastardly, wot? He wants to take control of the throne and rule Xanth. And yet, he shows concern for Xanth. He worries that insulation from the outside world will result only in stagnation and the ultimate fall of Xanth. His quest for domination can just as easily become a mission to depose a failing government and to save a land from a king who has lost much of his power and all of his sense. All that separates him from the role of Hero is the limit of action he is willing to take. Will he commit any atrocity to succeed? No. He demonstrates a mindset that the end does not justify the means. But will he go beyond the Heroic "comfort zone". He willingly--even amusedly--accepts the mantle of Villain, as it suits his ultimate purpose as Savior.
This isn't a defense, nor is it a treatise to propose Trent's inherent goodness. He is an antagonist, make no mistake of that. Though allying himself with Bink and Chameleon, he plainly states that, at any future meeting, all bets are off, and if they hinder him, he will dispose of them as he has countless others.
This is just to show that Trent is, by far, the most complex and interesting character in the novel. Though he is the villain, he is incredibly sympathetic. Or maybe, it's not in spite of his supposed villainy, but because of it.
Sometimes, it's the bad guy that makes the story so good.
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