“Gomen nasai!“ It’s a reflex, really. I shouldn’t have…
I hold out the single warm glove, I pick up. The old lady turns around and stares in many shades of confusion playing around her eyes. I must have spoken Japanese. Her brows shoot up, seeing her glove in my hand.
„Thank you laddie! Bless you.“ I smile and bow slightly. Bright sunshine warms my back. The heavy tarry feeling on my hand stays, like mud on boots. The old lady turns away and hobbles down Park Lane. Her grey tweed jacket flickers with shadow and light, as she passes under the canopy of the trees nearby.
No matter how hard I try, the sadness stings in my throat, burns behind my eyes. I rip my eyes away from her back.
The old lady dies.
Today… Continue reading “Shadow Duties”
„Today’s the day! The day you’ve been waiting for: ‚LOSE THE KINK OR LOSE THE LIMB‘!“ A pleasant male voice booms through a bright space. Applause and deafening cheers wake Una from her slumber.
Her mouth feels fuzzy.
She doesn’t remember going to bed. Instead, she remembers doing seventy on the interstate ninety-five, just past Trenton. She is on her way to the most important test screening in her carrier. Evening news, here she comes! That job has her name written all over it. Una Hawthorn, the new face on ABWD.
Continue reading “lose the kink or lose the limb”
Old age was a curse.
Anyone old enough could relate.
It marked the slow end of abilities, and the beginning of limitations. But this was a world made of limitations, wasn’t it? Old age was an abomination, a fence, an unscalable wall, but only if you ignored your abilities all your life long. Within those boundaries, anyone could roam freely.
My name is Rose, like the flower. My short-lived husband, Carl, loved my bloom, my thorns, my venom. He called my sense of justice, venom.
Continue reading “Thorns and Rose”
The Problem with Magic Thank you, Mladen and WritertoWriters
There is no such thing as magic.
Real magic is extinct.
I haven’t seen any since, huh. I can’t remember since when. Odd… Come to think of it, it’s nearly two thousand years. I remember Alexandria. Wait, no. No. That’s not right.
The last time I recall sensing magic was in the Middle Ages. It isn’t a good, nor a very successful one. It’s more of a petty attempt to hide money. The man, in his third decade, speaks the words. A carney. Sloppy and slurred words, no meaning where it should be. He doesn’t know what he says.
Continue reading “The Problem With Magic”
#1 / #3 / #4
The soft purring of the monitoring alarm on my watch wakes me, by vibrating. I’m up…
I tell the watch and it recognizes my voice. The command kills the alarm.
Sleeping at the med bay is seldom a good idea, and sleeping at a working station – uh, table – is downright irresponsible. I rub my face into some kind of wakefulness and wish I could rub my back into a painless state. Continue reading “med bay snippets #2”
The vicious little thing, that looked like an ordinary eight years old boy, had a rotten day. He had the onks. Gnomes were prone to get the onks, especially the young ones; and being a member of the royal family did nothing to prevent that. It was bearable in human disguise though, mingling, watching these oafs, and doing little mischiefs was entertaining enough to stand the bad days.
Continue reading “the onks”