4242: Fundamental LawsHeld in place by enormous steel couplers, the General Esteban Navarro dwarfed every explorer, medical transport, and freight slinger on the station docks. It was big enough, Ramon Galvez figured looking up at its nose from a port bar, that oncoming traffic could see it from a thousand miles away. He puffed on a cigarette and drank overpriced beer from one of those odd hourglass pints that were so popular in these places.4242: Fundamental Laws by SgtPossum
It was a hell of a ship, yessir. A little less than a kilometer long, though to be fair most of that length was made up by the strange matter drive. Bristling with laser cannons and rail guns and missile launchers and mine layers that weren't a hell of a lot of use unless you had somewhere real nice to hide. Ramon stubbed out his smoke in the ashtray, with more force than he intended.
The strange character who sat across the table noted Ramon's frustration. A tall, rugged human in his forties, the man had sat watching the Navarro's captain wordlessly and with obvious a
Two AM, At A PlaygroundThe streets all slick with rain reminded him of a hazy digital painting, the lights in their puddles formed with exaggerated, unpolished brush strokes. A half-dozen men and women in front of the bar, all lit up by the big white light hanging over the bouncer, formed the only distinct part of the scene. He wished he knew how to paint the things he saw.Two AM, At A Playground by SgtPossum
Standing beneath a playground, he looked miserable and out of place. The loaded revolver in his right hand looked more like a child's toy in this setting. What a place for a skid bar like that, he thought, just across the street from an elementary school. Tomorrow if all went as planned the kids who played on these swings and platforms would be stuck behind yellow tape, their vacation place home to grisly murder.
Murder as committed by Jeff Kuhn, a man who played the part of a lost high school graduate far better than that of a hitman.
Nearly ten to two. The greasy biker son of a bitch would be coming out any minute, dragged drunkenly alo
Early WinterDeath drives a green Packard. Depression era, with modern bumper stickers and parking tickets which, if you look closely, were written out by Hammurabi. I met him once, he’d pulled up outside my house and hopped out for a smoke break on the street. He looked like he didn’t have anything to do when, far as I know, somebody dies once every few seconds, somewhere. I went outside and asked him who he was after.Early Winter by SgtPossum
"You. But not for a while. Y’know Arnold Rothstein got shot just three blocks from here?"
"I thought he was killed in New York. Definitely in America."
"Who you gonna believe?"
Death flicked his smoke to the asphalt and crushed it with a casual twist of his purple dress shoe. Then he drove off, leaving me feeling a little melancholy and a little drained. Never could get the hang of snow in October.
HelenaFlames cross the horizon on stilts of cast iron. Hot winds gust from seams in the earth. An old man babbles about salvation. There is no business here. No dreams. No illusions. What was is long lost and the remnants are not memories, they are daggers through the soul.Helena by SgtPossum
Repentance is for the weak, I said. Well, the old girl is sure to bleed my resolve.
Daily Lit Recognition for October 2nd, 2014Daily Lit Recognition for October 2nd, 2014Daily Lit Recognition for October 2nd, 2014 by DailyLitRecognition
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autumn feel like africa by Serendiipitii
This is a truly fantastic piece on the beauty of autumn.
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the world is waiting for you by Arthisa
Because we all need to be reminded some days that breaking apart doesn't mean we stop being strong.
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The Next StageDis Carson and Zriz dropped their guns and raised their hands—on in Zriz’s case, claws—into the air. Zriz spat at the feet of the Eubolan holding them at gunpoint. Dis shared the sentiment. Out of habit, he berated himself. He should have seen the signs of ambush before boarding the derelict and called in the authorities. As if the life of a search and rescue unit wasn’t dangerous enough, he’d had to go charging into the dead ship looking for survivors. Trying to be a hero.
Instead, it looked like he was going to be just another victim. A five-year veteran should have known better.
“Look, just take the rations and go,” Dis said. “Shit ain’t even expensive.”
“Do not tell me you are afraid of death, Carson,” said Zriz with that clicking noise he had for a laugh.
“Hell no,” he said. “But dying at the hands of a filthy pirate over a measly box of food rations isn’t what I want carved as an epita
sewing the seeds of change.Silhouetted against the artificial sun, a man spotted me from across the plain and waved unceremoniously before turning away; he was the first human being I’d seen in six months. I did what any person who’d been alone that long would have done. I threw down my hose (the wheat would survive a few minutes without my care) and ran after him.
He walked slowly underneath the watchful eye of the solar lamp, the only one of the three in the station that remained operational after the end, and I kept running until I could touch the back of his shoulder with my calloused hand. Managing corn stocks and digging up potatoes had worked my hands into rough mitts that scratched on anything like sandpaper on silk.
“Who are you?” I asked, but he did not turn around.
He was looking at something in the distance, where my pseudo-sun barely touched. That part of the plain had wilted away, and had become the spot where I fermented plants and waste into mulch. I still had to
she whispers sweet nothings, i scream profanities.I found Beattie within the confines of a ruined church, cowering underneath the front row of pews with her hands over the back of her neck. She was convinced that the whole place would come down on top of her, and she always had to be prepared to protect her spine. I couldn’t blame her for that, only because you couldn’t get far in a ravaged world if your legs and arms didn’t work. She’d been dressed in her Sunday best for six months, though one of her white shoes was missing a heel.
“You should probably go somewhere else,” I advised her, taking a seat in the pulpit to light a cigarette. I set my guns down first, knowing that a girl like Beattie wouldn’t try anything dumb with me. If she did, I knew that I could take her head-to-head. “The insane people always scope out churches, thinking that God will save them.”
“God will save us,” she whispered, voice as quiet as a mouse in a fitting location.
Winter and FrostWinter sat outside, staring in wonder at the dwindling snowflakes dancing from the sky around her. She loved winter. To her, it felt magical. Sure, summer was gorgeous and fall was wonderful with all the colors, but nothing could compare to the sparkling frozen beauty of winter. And here she sat, in the midst of that beauty.
She was in the middle of a field, way past dark. Heavy snow had fallen only a few hours before, now only a few snowflakes fell from the dark sky, and the smooth blanket of white was undisturbed by even the animals.
Winter didn't want to leave, but the numb cold state of her body forced her to stand up and trudge through the powdery snow back into the small town where she lived.
The collection of cottages and other small buildings looked like a shadowy mass in the low moonlight, individual houses only distinguishable by the few that had warm yellow lights glowing in their windows. The lights disappeared one by one as she got closer, the late hour driving people into
A drunk Albertan, I'm a writer. I write stuff, and shit, and other things. Feedback is always appreciated, positive or negative.|
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