Image Inspired Mini Story #19

Somehow, impossibly, the sound of the blast drowned out the sirens.  There was a staccato shearing of metal as shrapnel dug into the back of the police car.  Rick and Cathy felt a wave of hot air.  Mendel fell to the ground with a scream and and clutched his leg.

Then the sirens continued their howling.

Rick pushed Cathy down, crawled to where the officer was holding his wound.  A black patch was already appearing on the grass beneath Mendel.

"Give me your belt!" shouted Rick, reaching for his waist.

Mendel's face was contorted in agony.  "No.  Fuck that.  They're on the ridge by the highway, firing down.  That's where you've got to bring her."

Rick nodded.  Another shell exploded and both men winced.

"Don't come at them straight on.  They'll be firing blind at everything near here.  Get to the edge, circle around, try to come up on their side.  Take this."  He reached out and retrieved his dropped M-16.

Rick shook his head.  "You need that."

Mendel pushed it into his hands.  "I don't need anything anymore.  Get the hell out of here.  Now!"

A dim figure rose up on the other side of the smashed car.  Rick raised the gun and fired, holding the trigger down as the thing bucked and jumped in his hand.  Some hit, some had to have hit, but it hardly mattered.

"Cathy, move!"

She sprung from her spot as the thing pounced onto the roof of the vehicle.  She passed him at a full sprint and he followed.  They heard the sound of handgun fire as Mendel shot at it from the ground.  An inhumanly long arm reached out and, with two fingers, pinched his torso.  There was a crunchy gurgle and, despite the bulletproof vest, the man was effectively split in two.  They rounded a corner as another tank shell exploded in the spot they'd been moments before.  It blasted the thing onto it's back and peppered them with rubble.  They didn't stop.

Neither spoke as they bolted for the treeline.  Cathy outpaced him quickly.  She was light on her feet, scared, and he if he didn't hustle he'd loose her.  Rick dropped the assault rifle.  The damn thing was heavy and did no good anyway.  It was like shooting clay.  Cathy didn't slow down when she hit the bramble and vanished into the bushes.  Rick grit his teeth, increased his speed as best he could, and followed her in.

"Cathy!  Wait!"

Here, in the trees, the sound of sirens was muffled somewhat.  He looked around and didn't see her.  Damn it!  That woman was the only one with answers.  If he lost her...

Something that felt like a rock wrapped in a wet towel struck him between the shoulder blades.  Rick spiraled onto the ground, rolling in the leaves.  His ribs were in agony.

It stood there, shoulders brushing up against the higher tree branches, looking down at him with a flat, vacant face.  It trundled forward, hand extended, fingers ready.  Rick was done.  He was certain.

"Stop it!"

Her voice came from behind him.  He heard her approach, she stepped past him, and placed herself between him and the thing.  She held the collar of her lab coat and shook it.

"You see this?  I know you know what this is.  Go on!  Get out of here!"

The monstrous bulk hesitated, pulling back its arm.  It considered the woman, debating something in it's lump of brain.  Cathy didn't give it the time.  She stomped toward it, close enough to touch.

The reaction was instant.  The creature pulled back, seemingly terrified of coming into contact with her.

"I said go!  Now!"

It made its decision, turning and crashing back toward town.  In anger it lashed out an arm and splintered a tree as it went.

Cathy returned to Rick and helped him up.

"How the hell?" he asked.

"Nevermind.  I'll explain later.  Just tell me where we need to go.  They won't all listen to me."

Rick pointed into the woods, a trail leading uphill.  They went.

Image Inspired Mini Story #18

It was metal and rivets and magic.

And it was leaving.

The great sloppy thing shuddered and wobbled its way up into the night sky, headed for who-knows-where.  Someplace better.  Julia didn't feel sad not to be going with them.  She knew she'd get on one eventually.  She'd been working hard on her imagination.  Her older brother, Trevor, said it was almost there.  No, Julia was a little sad because it was Becky rising up there into the speckled darkness.  Her good, big sister-style, always there when she needed her, Becky.  She'd miss her terribly.

"C'mon, Dinger, she's gone.  Lets go home."  The black cat simply blinked and didn't move.

Julia gathered up her sketchbooks, filled with pictures of strange creatures, silly poems, and colors she'd mixed, named, and cataloged.  Trusting that Dinger would follow at his own pace she headed across the roof to the ladder to the bridge-way.  She needed to get back.  If she hurried, Trevor might not notice she'd gone out to see Becky's departure.  Trevor never wanted her to leave.  He said it was "spirit crushing" to go out.  He said it had happened to him.

"I was just like you Julia," he'd say.  "I was my daydreams that were going to guide one of those ships up, to help people, to take them into new amazing places.  But I spent too much time looking around here, around Earth.  It's not good for you.  Earth is a cage and it'll trap you.  Try to ignore it."

And Julia did try to ignore it.  Even now, she kept her eyes on the ground, only occasionally peeking at the crowds of people in lines, the cracked domino stacks of buildings, the serpentine florescent streets.  Dinger watched all of it, of course.  When they got home, he'd tell her what they were.  Dinger was an expert.  Just last week, when she snuck out, she'd smelled something that made her stomach growl and resisted the urge to look.  Dinger had told her that it was, in fact, the aroma produced by a fish in a robotic suit.  It normally lived on the bottom of of a lake near a strange factory.  All the industrial runoff settled to the bottom and, by amazing coincidence, made the fish smell wonderful!  It had come out of the water on holiday, so it could sight-see the Vast, and everyone was glad it had.  The squealing she'd heard nearby had been excitement.

She always had the most interesting conversations with her cat.

She crowded into an elevator with about forty other people and went up three levels.  She had to shove to get off with all the new passengers trying to get on.  She tried to imagine they had good reason for pushing a little girl and almost trampling a cat, but couldn't.  Maybe Dinger could explain it to her later.  She was only three blocks and a nexus point away from the Insparium when she smelled it.  That smell.  The fish.

She knew she shouldn't.  She wasn't supposed to look around.  She was only out because she'd wanted to see Becky off.  To watch her ship float up on fire and daydreams.  And those other times, to visit her.  And... well, it couldn't hurt to peek.

The smell came from a stall, not a fish in a robotic suit.  It was equipped with a grill and deep frier and manned by an overweight fellow in a stained apron.  The area was piled high with cages containing live rats.  Squealing rats.  He took one out, held it by the tail, and swung it so its neck snapped on the counter.  He quickly removed the head, limbs, and guts, skinned it, and dropped it into the deep frier.  Several already cooked rats, impaled on sticks, hung from a clothesline. 

Julia gawped.  It was nothing like what she'd imagined.  It was brutal and horrible and...

"Dinger, why did you lie to me?"

The cat sat there and gazed at her silently.

If this had been a lie, then what about the rest?  She turned to look.  Before she could make any sense of things a figure burst in front of her, blocking off the spectacle.

"Julia!  You shouldn't be out here.  You know this!"  Trevor took her by the arm.  "Come on.  We've got to get you inside."

Caught in the act she immediately dropped her eyes to the ground and let him lead her.  "I'm sorry Trevor, I just wanted to say goodbye to Becky."

Trevor sighed heavily.  "I know.  I've been looking for you for an hour."

She felt the tension in her sibling and had an idea of what was at stake.  It was only dreams, random imagination, and unfiltered creativity that completed the inter-planetary drive calculations.  It was only her that could get them on a ship, up, out, and away.  He'd failed.  Becky hadn't.  She wished more than ever she was still here to tell her what to do.

"You didn't see much did you?"

"No." she lied.

"Good." he said.

Dinger, the no longer trust-worthy, followed them home.

Image Inspired Mini Story #17

"You knew it was going to be like this."

Spoken aloud, to himself, the words seemed even more empty and brought little comfort.  Tiny things, muffled by plastic, glass, and thousands of pounds of water overhead.  He'd forgotten how it was a bad idea to speak.  How it was a reminder that nobody would be answering.  That they were gone and he was...

Damn it!  He cursed himself silently.  He was doing it again.  Time to get up, to focus on the task at hand and occupy his mind with other things.

He strode through the wide glass hallway, walking on the scintillating patterns the light, strained through the water, left on the ground.  He walked on the shadows of fish.  He checked the airlocks one at a time, first flooding them, then re-pressurizing with forced air.  The pumps were good.  The seals were good.  The same as yesterday.

He took some readings on the bacterial growth on the bio-filters, ensured they were rotating in and out of the water properly, and that the fans were functional.  Air was good.  He didn't need readings on the algae food processors.  Simply looking at the thin layers of green being scraped into the processor told him that it was working fine.  Same with the plankton tanks.  Food was good.

It was time to send Roscoe up to the surface.  He released the automated submersible and watched it go.  Three hours before it would get back.  He busied himself by doing the weekly maintenance on Roxanne, Roscoe's counterpart.  Next time she would go and Roscoe would be serviced.

He would do these things over and over, until the day that one of them came back with low enough radiation.  He hoped it would be within his lifetime.

Finished with time to spare, he sat for a while, looking out into the vast blue blur, eyes unfocused.  He was having a bad day.  Couldn't shake the feeling.

He decided to check on them.

This was one task he didn't do often.  There was always a risk when opening the chamber and he didn't like risks.  There was far too much at stake.  But sometimes he just had to do it.  There was no reason for it mechanically.  He justified it as maintenance for his mind.

Putting on the winter parka, goggles, and gloves he entered the access code that opened up the pressure core.  It was darker in here, among the rows of tubes, no natural light.  The tanks, hundreds of them, each glowed faintly.  He walked down the hallway, his breath puffing in the cold air, ignoring the glass cylinders until he came to an intersection and turned right.

A metal plate on the wall simply read: Homo Sapiens.

Here he stopped, gazing into the first tank.  In the center hung a tiny embryo the size of a marble.  He went from tank to tank, visiting them.  Looking at the tiny faces, the miniscule nubs that would be arms and legs.  The pinprick dots of eyes.

When it was time for Roscoe to return he left, took off the cold gear, and re-sealed the arc.  For the thousandth time he hoped the readings were good, knowing the chance was impossible.  He rubbed his eyes.

"You knew it was going to be like this."

Image Inspired Mini Story #16

"Your mask.  It is unnecessary," whispered Ellise.  "I know what I've agreed to."

Her speech was barely audible, a mere mutter, despite the fact that her captor stood across the chamber, past the smouldering embers of the fireplace and out on the cold balcony.  He would hear her.

The toothy skull that covered his head did not move as he responded. A thick voice echoed from the hollow bone.  "No.  You do not."

He turned from the broken landscape and came inside.  He was naked despite the chill, pale, and the dark hair that flowed from beneath the mask dribbled a slick oily substance.  The fluid smelled rotten and slithered around his body on its way down.

Ellise didn't look at him.  "Do not take me for a fool.  I am as old as you are. I know what I've sacrificed."

He took her wrist and turned her around to face him.  "So you know the answer, then?"

She pulled her arm back, a black stain marring the skin where he'd touched her.  Her eyes locked on the shadow alcoves of the mask, with her face set in angry determination.

He chuckled. "You don't."

Ellise clenched her fists.  "I know that you've released innocent souls in exchange for me.  That is all I need to know."

He stepped in close and put his face near her ear.  "You're not at all worried?  None can say what happens when angels die."

"We are taken to the bosom of the Father.  I am certain."

Slowly, he slid his arms around her, leaving dark smudges on her feather dress.  She didn't resist.  His body bent strangely, and his head tilted back to accommodate the bone skull.  She was surprised how tender his flesh was, mushy and un-muscled.  He held her still and whispered. "If that were the case, don't you think we would have killed ourselves?"

This gave her pause.  He could see a flicker of fear in her eyes.  It was intoxicating.

"No.  It's different.  We're not the same... we're..."

He tilted her back, luxuriating in her doubt.  Her body loosened, slid, and trickled away in his grip.  Her unfinished words bubbled on her lips.

"Then go sister.  Go and see."

She slipped, faded, and

Image Inspired Mini Story #15

"He's sleeping with my wife, Tom, I know it."

Tom scratched his blonde hair and scrunched up his face. "Oh... I dunno, Mikey. I don't think Rick would do that to ya."

Mikey pulled on one of his galoshes. "Oh yeah? Why's that? It's not like we're best pals or something. We just work on the same slice is all. Doesn't exactly make us brothers."

Tom picked up his pickaxe and passed Mikey his pry-bar. "Sure, but that don't mean he's gettin' with your lady."

Mikey stood up. "Well, she's getting with someone. I can tell. All these errands, visits to friends I never met, more perfume than usual. It's happening. And that bastard Rick is rubbing it in my face."

"How so?"

The two men headed up to the plate, tools on their shoulders. "You've heard him, going on about his 'hammer'. How nothing can resist it. He gives me looks when he says it, does this thing with his eyebrows."

They climbed the ladder, slipped down the rim, and splashed into the juice. "He's got a power tool and we don't. He's just showing off."

"No." said Mikey, "It's more than that. I swear, one time I could smell his cologne on my pillow. Not the case, but in the pillow. And Sue had just changed the sheets the day before, but there they were, changed again. You know what that means!"

"She likes laundry?"

Mikey stopped at the rind and looked at his friend. "I don't even know why I talk to you sometimes."

Tom shrugged. Sinking his feet into the soft side of the slice he climbed up to his work station. Mikey followed, using the same hand and footholds. They got to the top and walked along the ridge. Rick was there waiting, leaning on his yellow jackhammer.

"Mornin' fellas!"

Tom smiled. "Mornin' Rick."

Mikey didn't say anything.

"You guys ready for some hot and heavy pounding today? Get ourselves a little pro-duck-tivity bonus?" Mikey grit his teeth and climbed up past him. Tom pulled on gloves, hefted his pickaxe.

"You just break it up, we'll pull em out."

"Good, good. I really need the cash. I've got something special planned. I already loosened those three so you can start there." He pointed at three of the big dark oval shapes. Mikey didn't say anything, just kept climbing toward the top one and got to work.

One good thing about the job; it was great for getting out frustrations. Mikey smashed and poked the red pulpy ground with all the anger he could manage. Over and over, he drove his long metal bar along the edge of the seed, until it was deep enough for him to pull on, leveraging it out, where it would topple down the slice to the recovery crews. It was hard work, laborers work, but there was good money in seeding.

He'd almost managed to forget about his problems by early afternoon, caught up in the task, when he heard the sound of a jackhammer almost directly below him. Peering around the smooth seed, he could see Rick, not paying attention to where he was. He should know better. Anyone beneath one of these babies when they went would be crushed instantly. He opened his mouth to call out, to warn him, and stopped.

The memory of cologne on his pillow blotted out the overwhelming watermelon stink. He knew that chances like this didn't come often.  He dug the pry-bar in, his mind made up.  He heard Tom call his name. 

Mikey ignored it and pulled hard.

Image Inspired Mini Story #14

When the Hound of a Thousand Faces chose to be born on Callis Four he knew he would not live long.  The body was small, female, and he felt colder than the last one.  He had his saffron acolytes bring him a sweater and went out onto the balcony.

"Where is it now?"

"It is over a city called Var Hammen, South and West, several thousand miles.  It kills everything it passes."

"I did not ask what it was doing.  I asked where it was."

The bald monk, number 38,705, fell prostrate before the him within her.  The Hound ignored the adulation.

"What attempts have been made against the Shayde?"

"Viral, nuclear, cryofission, vortian, and... psychic."

The Hound laughed, surprised by the musical sound in his throat.  "Psychic?  Really?"

"We are dying Master.  We felt that no avenue of possibility should be neglected."

"You wasted your time."  Chastised, the monk held his index fingers along his nose.

"All glory to the Eternal Hunter, I bow before the wisdom of your multitude.  Truly, you are the Stars Salvation."

"Lead me to the hangar.  I want to finish this quickly."

His worshipers were prompt and thorough.  Their serial numbers were low; they'd been doing this a long time.  The vessel was properly outfitted, bristling with antennae, glistening with sensors.  He and the monk entered and they flickered into the sky like a tin grasshopper.  The ocean blurred beneath them.  Mountains sprung from the water.  Beyond, the darkness of the Living Storm.

"Timeless One, I beg intrusion upon a few seconds of your limitless existence to speak with you, here in the moments before the end of my finite consciousness."

"Sure."

"I consider it the highest honor that I might bring you here, knowing I will die with you.  The sacrifice is little knowing that you will save my people.  I go to my fate gladly, with pride in my heart I can scarcely contain."

The Hound clicked some switches.  Instruments swiveled and they dove toward the burning maelstrom.

"Save your people?  Yeah, no.  Your planet is going to die.  Probably the next few planets as well, until I get enough readings to figure this thing out."

38,705 blinked.  "But, you're the Immortal Light of Heaven..."  Lightening lanced out and licked the ship, rocking everything.  "The Stars Salvation..."  A panel burst into flames.

"Look, I really am busy here."

The Monk slumped down into his seat.  The windows displayed a swirling mash of fire, stone, and electricity.  Something metal ripped off the ship and careened into the gale.

"You will remember me?  That I was here with you?" Asked the monk.

The Hound didn't look up from his readings.

"Yeah.  Sure."
____________________________________________________

Image Inspired Mini Story #13

“Steph.  Wake up.  I think I hear something.”

Stephanie didn’t open her eyes and let out a long sigh.  “Of course you hear things.”

Eric sat up, letting a rush of cool air into the sleeping bag.  Steph shuddered.  “Will you cut it out?  You’re giving me goosebumps.”

“No, really.  I heard something.”  Steph sunk deeper into the bag, seeking warmth.

“Yep, that happens.”

Eric lowered his voice.  “I think it’s outside the tent.”

Stephanie didn't attempt to conceal her annoyance.  “Well where else would all the nature be?  Unless it’s inside the tent, I wouldn't worry about it.”

“I saw this show on cable about teenagers who would sneak around the woods, looking for campers.  When they found a tent they’d sneak up and circle it and then just beat the shit out of it with bats and sticks.  I heard some noises like that, lots of things around us.”

Stephanie laughed.  “So you think we’re surrounded by maladjusted youth?”

“Don’t joke, Steph.  People die that way.”

She shifted to her side, turning away from him.  “No, no they don’t.”

“I saw it on…”

“Doesn’t happen.  Now let me sleep already.”

He didn’t speak.  He flopped back next to her, clearly dissatisfied.  Outside the wind blew through the trees, slowly rustled the tent as if it were breathing.  The crickets and cicadas buzzed in waves, rising and falling with a rhythm louder than a city.  Stephanie started to drift off when Eric sat up again.

“What if it’s a bear?”

Her temper flared.  “Godamn it, Eric. Enough!”

“I heard a bunch of them.  It could more than one.”

“There aren’t any bears!”

“How do you know that?”

“Because we’re in central Illinois!  There are no bears!  No mountain lions!  No wolves!  Nothing!”

“But…” Stephanie cut his protest off before he could voice it.

“No! No more! There is nothing to be afraid of! The biggest things in this forest are deer! Big-assed, grass-munching, stupid herd animal, fucking harmless deer!”

________________________________________

Image Inspired Mini Story #12

My father, my dead father, was so reviled that even the ghosts would not tend to his corpse.

I’d hauled what was left of his body to the pier myself and chained it securely in thick necklace chain.  I sacrificed a grackle and used its blood to adorn him.  Seven stumpy candles were lit with the birds feathers.  I ate the feet.  The ghosts came.  They had to.  The dead cannot ignore a summons done propper.

But they would not touch his body.  I sat in the funeral barge and argued with them.  Tried to convince them to carry him over.  They would not.  I ignored the sailors on the dock.  Broad shouldered spitting men who agreed with the dead; my father deserved no peace for what he’d done.

The ghosts melted into the night.  Once the sailors saw that there would be no redemtion, they too, faded into the dark.  I was alone in the gently rocking boat with two mangled corpses; one family, one fowl.

I looked down at the man.  His features were clear, even beneath the cuts and bruises.  No amount of stones could crush a visage like his.  It was too strong, too determined.  It was too much like my face.

A cold wind tossed my hair as I cast the line.  I raised the umbrella sail and, carried by the chill, we headed into the choppy sea.

“You do not deserve this.” I said.

At my feet, my fathers broken face smiled.

 _________________________________________

Found this image by an artist on Deviant art, Pepachan.
Check out their stuff here.

Image Inspired Mini Story #11

“It looks like it might rain. Are you sure this is a good idea right now?”

“You’re not made of sugar.”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I want to get soaked though.” As if to prove her point, a low growl of thunder rolled in the distance.

“That’s nowhere near here, we won’t get more than a drizzle. Besides, there’s plenty of cover if we need it. C’mon.”

Clara watched as Wayne Warrow strode through the amusement park gates without hesitation. He would go without her, she knew, so she hurried after him.

“It hardly looks open.”

“It hardly is.”

The fall air was heavy with moisture, cold, and windless. They cast no shadows. No, that wasn’t quite true. Everything was in shadow and theirs were swallowed before they hit the pavement. The carnival music was a dull underwater thing distorted by repetition, crummy speakers, and untrimmed bushes. Any people they passed were going in the opposite direction, hands sunk in their pockets for warmth. Wayne ignored them.

Clara wanted to ask if he was sure they needed to do this, but didn’t. Every time the words came close to escaping her lips she stopped. She knew what he would say. She knew he was right. It was hope that they’d made a mistake that kept welling up. It wasn’t something she should nurture. Not now.

They rounded a bend in the walkway, moving away from the carousel. All of the ice cream booths had been closed for the year and the food stands for the night. In the trees above them hung dozens of dark lanterns. None of them cast light. They looked like decorations, old decorations. Something the park had once run, but over time had given up on changing bulbs; a remnant of something dead and long gone. Clara knew better.

“This spot will work.” Wayne stopped walking and offered her his hand.

She didn’t hate Wayne. Not really. But she was tired of him. Of his correct hunches, his clipped tone, and his arrogance. She wasn’t impressed with the zigzag double W of his signature anymore. She was numb to his good looks. Mostly, she was upset because she knew he was tired of her too, and somewhere, it stung. She consoled herself that he likely felt the same sad ache and took his hand.

Wayne raised his voice and spoke with more formality than required. “By the authority of the Wardens I command you to show yourselves!”

Clara didn’t say anything, just added her will to his. The words were really a formality. Nothing in the prison had ears to hear. Their effort proved sufficient. One by one the lanterns began to glow with an amber luminescence as the inhabitants made themselves known. In less than a minute all of the old lanterns were painting the trees a sickly rust color. Clara felt it on her skin through her coat.

“I don’t see anything. Maybe I was wrong.” Doubt from Wayne was normally something to savor, but not this time. Not when so much was at stake.

“No,” she said, pointing to single dark box. “You weren’t. Something has escaped.”

__________________________________

It's been too long since I did one of these. Sorry for the wait. I love this image and I've tried to figure out where that Ferris wheel is; no luck.

Image Inspired Mini Story #10

Robert Loting held his coffee cupped in shaking hands. They were big hands, washed clean, but they looked bloody. They had no skin on the knuckles. The coffee was heavily sugared, dark, with no cream. Officer Brighton entered the room followed by another man.

“Hey Bob, sorry about the wait. How you doing?” Robert managed a smile for a moment before the absurdity of ever being happy again slapped it from his face.

“I’m here.”

“Good, good Bob. This is the sketch artist I was telling you about, Neal. You think you’re up to talking to him?”

Robert nodded. Neal reached out his hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Robert released his coffee long enough to shake. “So how does this work?”

“Well, I give you and Neal some privacy. He asks you some questions, you watch what he draws, give him input, and you go from there. Don’t worry about rushing this. You just do your best; take your time. If you need anything, you remember where my desk is right? Just down the hall.”

Robert nodded. “He’s going to think I’m crazy.”

“Now, Bob…”

Neal interrupted. “Mr.Loting, I’m not here to judge. I’m just here to draw.”

Officer Brighton nodded. “You just describe what you saw, we’ll worry about the rest later. Deal?”

Robert mumbled around his coffee. “Deal.”

The door to the small room shut and left the two men alone. Neal opened up a case, set out several pens and a large notepad. He sat down.

“So tell me about her.”

Robert flinched. “I thought I was going to describe… to describe… him… it.”

Neal picked up a charcoal pencil. “Not yet. Lets loosen you up a little. How long were you together?”

Robert clung to his coffee. “Four years.”

“Married?”

“No. She was divorced. Said that being married ruined everything. She didn’t want to do it again.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“She was too reasonable sometimes. Practical, you know? Had her feet grounded in reality. She never would have believed…”

Neal started sketching. “She was attractive?”

“What… well, yeah, I thought so. She was a health nut, ridiculously thin. Not everybody was into how she looked, so brittle. I loved it. I liked thinking she was fragile.”

“Her hair?”

“Short. You know, modern girl.”

Neither man looked at one another. Neal sketched quickly and Robert watched a bubble skirt the lip of his coffee like a child clinging to the edge of a pool.

“How did you meet her?”

“A party.”

“Did you two go to a lot of parties?”

“Yeah, we did. She went to more. She’s more, what’s the other –verted? Not introverted, like inside, the other one.”

“Extroverted.”

“Yeah, extroverted. I always forget that one. It reminds me of a bug. Like exoskeleton.”

“So she was out a lot.”

“Yeah. I used to think she was a social butterfly, but after a while, I just couldn’t see her that way. She was just a fly, going from one shit party to another.”

“How did that make you feel?”

“Fuck man, how do you think? I just wanted to be with her and she was never in the right spot.”

“That must have been difficult.”

Robert shook his head. Took a long drink of coffee. “No, not really. I loved her, you know. Her head was all fucked up. Like there was a tangle of crossed phone lines, nothing really making sense. You can love someone even if they’re messed up you know.”

“I know.”

“You can love people through just about anything.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What can’t you love them through?”

Robert set down the empty coffee cup. He leaned over and rubbed his eyes with a thumb. “When they crush your spirit. When they do that, then you’ve got nothing left to love with. You can’t help anybody when they’ve broken your soul’s bones and it can’t fly anymore, let alone carry them. When that happens, it’s over. Then you’re both gone.”

Neal put down his pencil, pushed his chair back from the table.

“I’ve heard enough. I think we’re done here.”

“But I haven’t described it yet! The thing that killed her! We were just talking about Alice. What the hell were you drawing?”

Neal closed the notepad and stood. “Don’t worry about it Bob. I think I’ve got a good enough sketch.”

________________________

This sketch is from a guy named Alan Campbell and more of his art can be found at http://emohoc.deviantart.com/ He mostly does model photography and photoshop composites of girls. But hey, this is a nice little deviation that I enjoyed quite a bit!

Image Inspired Mini Story #9

The dawn soaked through the thick canopy at the cost of losing its nature. It was not a warm illuminator here. It emerged through mossy branches as a heavy yellow thing, tainted with a deeper hue. The fog accosted it, eliminating any joy or comfort it may have contained. The trees tolerated it, but only barely.

It was an eerie thing, this morning that Chalice walked through. She’d awoken in the darkness with a pain in her belly. Rising, she left Paul sleeping in a tangle of silk and went to the bathroom. Cool fluorescents revealed two tiny holes in her nightgown and two more in the skin below her belly button. Emerging from the small wound ran two spider gossamers. She frowned and ran her fingers along them. They did not break and felt much more like string than a normal web strand. They trailed down her body, across the tile floor, and back into the bedroom.

She followed them.

By the time they reached the front door, she realized that someone was reeling them in on the other end. The excess did not loop out behind her and she occasionally felt a slight tug in her belly. Chalice didn’t bother with shoes. She walked across the cold dew of the yard and into the forest.

Paul had been so insistent on living on the edge of the woods, but they’d always scared Chalice. She never told him though. That would be silly. Besides, she loved him and Paul loved these woods. He was a gentle soul, prone to long walks in the twisting paths and sitting on the back porch with his coffee, just staring at the swaying boughs.

“Some things Chalice, are just too mysterious to understand, and that’s what makes them beautiful.” he’d said.

“They’re just trees. It’s just a forest. It’s pretty, but hardly difficult to figure out.”

He’d tilted his head and smiled. “I think there’s more there.”

She barely felt the soft mosses beneath her feet. She moved like a ghost through the branches, feeling like a mere shadow of her self. The muffled stillness was like a dream. This couldn’t be life because it was too serene, too strange. Ahead, strung between the trees, was a web; a glistening pattern of white lines and curves, swaying gently. It seemed more solid than she did. Her ethereal hands coiled into the weave, her chest pressed against its gentle recurrence, her eye rested on the spider.

It was small, so very small. Its legs were long and barely thicker than a strand. Its fangs were tiny reflections, its body; an emerald. She could have crushed it with a finger, but she had none. Her soul was trapped by this tiny little mystery. She felt sad for Paul. The thought of him waking up next to her lifeless body sent chills through her. Her bodiless screams were wind.

The spider’s eyes glimmered. “It takes something wondrously fragile to catch something so delicate, so well hidden.”

She pulled, she struggled, and as the spider began to feed, her spirit faded away.

Dawn continued.

Image Inspired Mini Story #8

“The air here tastes like chalk.”

“I know. It’s the ventilators. They keep it dry in here.”

“It’s very dry. My fingers feel smooth all the time.”

“Good for them.”

I want to take his hand. To touch something other than concrete, but I don’t. He wouldn’t take it right. It’s already awkward, both of us wearing only smiley-face belly scars and tattoos.

“Have you ever seen anyone else? Any women?”

“No. Only you.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Nothing to count with.”

“Your hair?”

“Like yours, it grew out long ago. Useless.”

“It’s not useless. It’s good for resting your head. Do you remember when you first came here? Your bald skull on the ground when you slept?”

“No.”

“Well, then you’ve been here longer than me. I still remember.”

We pass another spotlight. I’ve seen thousands, and never a burnt out bulb. Every bulb I see, I wonder who’s changing them. Every bulb I see, I get angry at myself for thinking the same damn thing. Our beards make our shadows look like goats on the far wall. Long man-goats. It makes me think of meat.

“Have you ever found food in here?”

“No.”

“Even rats or anything?”

“No.”

“Me neither. They weren’t lying.”

“They never lie.”

“Everyone lies sometimes.”

“Not them.”

I hadn’t believed them. When they cut open my stomach and shoved that black ball inside it. When they sewed me shut and told me I’d never need to eat again. That it was part of my punishment. Now I believe them.

“If they don’t lie, then you think there’s a way out?”

“Yes. And no.”

“What do you mean?”

“There could be a way out. But that doesn’t mean we can use it.”

“Oh.”

I’m sick of the chalk taint in the air. I raise my arm to my mouth and start licking, just for the taste. The only other flavor I can get in here; my own. He looks at me and scowls. We haven’t been together very long, and sometimes I think he would prefer to be alone again.

Other times, I’m pretty sure he’s thinking about eating me.

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Not sure where this image came from. I like the curvy cool endless feeling of the thing though.

Image Inspired Mini Story #7

Paul had always done well with transitions. When his parents divorced, they were both concerned about how it would affect his behavior. They had as many worries about him as their discord ridden and distracted hearts could muster.

“You know Daddy still loves you, even though he’s not here during the week, right son?”

“Right Dad. I understand.”

Paul took things in stride. Even a quarter century later, when his own wife left him for the convenience store clerk who got her coffee everyday, he adjusted. His daughter tried to.

“It’ll be okay honey.” He comforted her when he could and then went home to his apartment. He was as good a parent as could be, for her sake. The change didn’t bother him though. It was expected. It was just the nature of things.

He shaved his head the year his mother died. He bought new clothes. He was mercury. You can’t crush someone so liquid. He lived for spring and summer, those wild seasons where the days felt as random as his soul. His daughter got older, drop by drop. She moved to Arizona. She left on a rainy Friday in April. Told him she wanted the sun everyday. Wanted something concrete. Paul couldn’t even understand what she meant by that. He just told her he loved her and let her go.

Today, the wind kicks fall leaves around like a group of invisible children. Paul stands on the street, letting them run around his legs, looking out over a vacant lot with a trailer in the center. Dozens of pumpkins surround it. Scarecrows lean against it. He likes the jack-o-lanterns a lot. Wonders what face he’ll put on his this year. He should do something special, now that they’re all gone.

He looked into the orange sunset, feeling the warm on his face in the still moments between the crisp gusts. He wants…

He wants to change even more.

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This bit of art is from a guy named Liam W on Deviant Art. He hasn't got a ton posted, and seems to be on a University inspired hiatus, but still, what he's got is very cool! http://eluu.deviantart.com/

Image Inspired Mini Story #6

Travis ran the Big Monster at the carnival and nobody ever suspected. He wore his yellow reflective vest like a priest and people treated him as such. Although he was just a lowly carnie, they would stand in line for him, move to the cars when he indicated, and wait for him to come by to inspect their lap bars, faces upturned as if begging communion. When they were ready, he would bless them with a ride. If they annoyed him, he’d claim mechanical difficulties, make them get off, and go have a smoke break. They didn’t annoy him often though.

Travis enjoyed his holy work.

The spinning lights were hypnotic, the patterns enchanting. It was hard to make sense of the movement of the ride. It didn’t make sense and confused the eye, folding in upon itself, twisting back in strange arcs. It tipped wrong. It curved around itself, around the rules. Travis never got tired of looking at the unspeakable gyrations of the machine.

Across the country, town by town, Travis brought his machine. The people loved it. Their sweaty excited faces grinned, sticky with candy. Eyes filled with mindless enjoyment. They screamed in joy and praised the Big Monster as it flung their bodies, turned them upside down, and listened to their exultation. Travis knew it was listening. He could hear it, beneath the engines, sucking, pulling, drawing up from the deep places it slept. Eyelids flutter like bats, algae covered bones creak, and things long dead awaken.

Someday, there would be enough fervor.

Someday, it would come back.

For now, Travis smiles, and waits, and lets another group of teenage girls onto the Big Monster, blessing them as they go.

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Found this image and saved the artist's link, but for some reason their website is gone, gone, gone. So, no clue anymore who the artist is. I'll try the site every now and again and if they ever return I'll update and give some credit here. Until then, just enjoy the pic!

Image Inspired Mini Story #5

I strolled through, enjoying the warm summer breeze. At the end of a particularly curvaceous trail I came to the edge of the property. There was a rod iron fence that ran the entire perimeter. I had been here earlier and infused the bars with time. Now they emanated the feel that they were older than Methuselah's bones. I opened the gate and closed it gently behind me, making sure not to damage my trailing gossamer. A gravel road extended in either direction, forest ahead. I took the left path.

It was a considerable hike to the end of the road. To ease the tedium I picked up a stick and ran it along the rod iron fence beside me. A mile ended the fence and another ended the road.

It was replaced with a chasm; deep, rocky, and filled with the sky. There was no guardrail, the world just ended. I gathered up some of the thin cord I’d been towing and tied it around a rock. Once secure, I pitched it over the edge. It vanished, leaving a shimmer-sheen of string behind it. I stood for a while, watching the clouds, before I remembered that I was on a schedule. Turning, I walked along the cliff-side until I came to a plain of rocky shale. It extended out over the sky, forming a considerable isthmus across the blue expanse. In the far distance, I saw another island of land; her Sphere

The wind was very strong here. The flat stones were cracked and broken creating loose piles, like hills. Some of these jagged monoliths jutted high, like immense fingers, scratching at the clouds. Others lay dead on the ground, exhausted from the reaching. They reminded me of the futility of effort, the impossible stand we all take against life. What can I say? You rate it by the ride and mine had been far from pleasant.

We all have places like this, on the fringe. As we grow, we herd it along before us on into the God-knows-what that lies beyond. I'd pushed mine pretty far. I smiled in appreciation of her, as of yet, undefined space. I would have to sneak back here some day to see what becomes of it. What became of her. Anything was possible.

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Image is by an artist named Isil Metriel. I don't know anything much about them. This image actually reminded me of a very old story idea I had years ago. This is a fragment of scene from that very vintage daydream.

Image Inspired Mini Story #4

Mr.Boraga looked down at his class and, not for the first time, they reminded him of grasshoppers, what he remembered of grasshoppers. They wiggled on the bench, giggling and hissing, unable to contain their excitement.

“Ok kids, one last time before I open the blast doors. What are the rules?”

There was a jumble of answers, all different, all muffled by the masks. Mr.Boraga put up his hands. “One at a time, one at a time. Michael, tell me a rule.”

Michael stood up. “If you hear your box alarm, it’s time to run from harm.”

Mr.Boraga nodded. “Very good, you’ve all got your boxes, if you hear anything from them, get back in here, as quick as you can. Tom, what’s another?”

Tom scratched the back of his head, near his mask strap. “Birds are bad, don’t make them mad.” He punctuated his rule with a little jump.

“Right. If you see a bird; leave it alone! Call me over. And the most important rule Claire?”

Claire got to her feet and dramatically turned to face the other kids. She pointed a warning finger.

“No bleeding! It’s bad to bleed, ‘cuz blood goes bad!”

“That it does,” said Mr.Boraga, his mind filled with red memories, “That it does…”

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Couldn't find the credit for this picture. If you know what it is, drop me a line. So creepy, I'd love to give props to where it came from.

Image Inspired Mini Story #3

When the green sea swallowed Marty Doman it felt more like milk to him than water. The dense algae laden soup turned his world into a thick viridian, and slowed everything down. He imagined being trapped inside one of his grandmother’s lime Jello dishes. The kind she always put mandarin oranges into, only now, he was inside it. This tray was as vast as the ocean and tasted of salt, not bitter fruits. It slowed his arms, his legs, but also his lungs, his thoughts. A bubble escaped from his nose and he watched it rise, gently, in front of his left eye. It took its time, undulating and wobbling, as it drifted to the surface, to freedom. He hoped he would find freedom too.

He started to take another step, to continue his walk along the bottom. He didn’t know how long he’d been going already. He smiled at the thought of checking his watch. It was supposed to be waterproof, shock resistant, and capable of telling him when he needed to be where, for his responsibilities. He didn’t look at it. Kelp stalks wound around his legs. There were no fish.

He wondered how far he would get. Could he reach those dark places? The ones so deep the sun could not touch him anymore, where the weight of the water would crush down and hold him tight, like being gripped in a loving fist. He hoped so. It had been so long since he’d been home.
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This image is an artist named Kerry Skarbakka. He's got a whole series of cool underwater stuff, and also some very interesting images of people sort of falling, flying, being tossed out windows, etc... Super great stuff! It's all really fantastic. Check out his site. http://www.skarbakka.com/

Image Inspired Mini Story #2

The russet horizon blinked and blinked again. From edge to edge, Mira ran, tearing space, ripping her way to freedom. No Alasha had ever traveled so fast. Her bones ached, her nose bled, and the reverberations from jumps caused her ears to go deaf. She was a lightening flash strobe, pulsating, the manifestation of flight and fear.

But it wasn’t enough.

In a millisecond between, he was there. A slap from his hand shook her teeth loose and sent her careening to the stone. The run was broken. She crumpled.

There was no reason to look at him, and she did not. To set eyes upon this thing that had caught her was a torture in itself, one of the few horrors she could now prevent. She felt him, the rusty iron presence, the smell of his molten heart, looming. Leering.

But then she felt something else.

To her side, the ground erupted in a splash of limbs and gravel. Stone tentacles, bird wings, and flesh burst up like a blossom, growing up out of itself, rising into the air on legs of granite and bone. The form was not a man, but it was manlike, twisting and shifting in a storm of strange matter. A voice rumbled from this maelstrom.

“Get away from her!”

Her Illrian had come.

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This image comes from Mario Sanchez. Everything in their gallery is freaking awesome. One of my favorites. Check it out. http://aegis-strife.deviantart.com/

Image Inspired Mini Story #1

“I cannot express how much I’ve grown to love my darling Ixodoidia, almost to the exclusion of all else. For a time my fascination for her was such that I simply forgot all manner of personal responsibilities. The result of such foolish activity was not without consequences. My appetite diminished, and as it did, so went my health. I took on a most sickly pallor and lost a great deal of weight. It was only when my dearest reminded me of her own needs that I was roused to action. Now, all is well on that front. I ensure at least one meal daily and with it, an assortment of multivitamins. I am much refreshed. "

"Were that my social standing could be so easily repaired! Due to what I must admit to as inferior and inattentive behavior in the workplace, I have lost my employment. While this is no great tragedy, for I have an abundance of savings on which to support myself, I find myself embarrassed, and often ashamed, that I should have let my employers down in such a manner, and I worry about what friends and family think of my failure. Ixodoidia reminds me that people are gossips, looking to find fault where they can, and that I should not spend so much time concerning myself over it. I try not to. Besides, what I have found in her is a joy worth trading all manner of relations. Many of my friends have expressed concern, but I pay it very little mind. If they knew a love such as mine, they would certainly behave in the same manner. By god! Aren’t all men seeking, from the time they leave their mothers, for that elusive and perfect harmony of relationship? I count myself lucky to have found it."

"Ixodoidia is everything to me. We share our breath together. We go everywhere with one another. When I sleep, she caresses my forehead and shares of my dreams. I can hear her whispers constantly. Certainly, I would do anything for my love!”

Excerpt from the personal journals of Edgar Chelic, the Butcher of LeVille
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The image is from artist Vania Zouravlio. His stuff is pretty great. 

More here http://www.bigactive.com/illustration/vania-zouravliov/general-portfolio