It looked as if someone finger flicked the air. Three fifths of eye blink after that move, almost out of thin air, trail of sparks appeared.
Air finger flicker was a bit shorter than roof of junk yellow Opel Astra. He wore thin autumn trench coat over unremarkable gray suit with thin black sweater instead of shirt. Someone would describe his head as round, others as square, because it was chubby and big like upholstered anvil.
Picking ends of his coat, so they don't get muddy, he squatted next to the story.
"Well you really did a nasty job on her", he murmured to himself almost ignoring a worried writer who stood nearby shivering in the wind.
Writer was silent for a several moments. He was thin and frail, clad in silk pajamas the color of Dijon mustard, wrapped in cloth that resembled lavish curtains more than anything else. We, of course, only provisionally call him the writer, considering the sad state of the story which inspector Pilsudski was examining.
You didn't have to be an expert to see that the story was dying, there was no need to call Literary Police to tell you that. What was confusing the inspector was question of how did it happen. Ian Pilsudski already encountered in his career many cases when story breaks off from a writer's reign. He saw many horrible examples of how story and writer can maim each other. But the pale apparition that was sprawled in the mud didn't look like a wild story. Quite the contrary. She had shiny fur, trimmed claws and exquisite feathers. Why was she dying in a pool of words, her beautiful nose broken, her hair torn, as pale as her writer, Pilsudski couldn't tell.
He stood up and waved to morgue technicians.
"Take her away..." he said and reached for his coat's pocket to fish another cigarette.
Friday, March 9, 2018
Thursday, March 8, 2018
R52
Tree. What could I tell you about it? It was simply evil and mean. It was grabbing hair of passers by, kicking their hats. It didn't only eat kites but all sort of innocent creatures.
No one could end the terror of this tree. No matter how diligently community workers were chopping off the branches, evil tree always found new uses for the fresh stumps. It would simply spit splinters and pierce balloons, waiting for the limbs to grow back, and city gardeners didn't have time to dedicate all their efforts to this single tree.
Neighbors from this tree's hood, who suffered the most from this wicked plant tried to bring goats and sheep to tame it. As you can tell for yourselves that was quite silly plan, but they conducted it. Sheep came. Browsed a bit at tree's sapling branches and roots, peed and that was all.
Desperate, citizens ceased trying to invent new brilliant scheme, so they simply invited a wise man. I don't know where did they find wise man's cell phone, but they managed to bring him in. He arrived and inspected tree from every side. He wrote down his observations in little black notepad. He had small torch light in shape of pencil. Or was it a pencil in shape of torch? Whatever, really. So he used it to light into the deep crevices in the dark tree's bark. He even took a sample with tiny hammer and chisel, and returned home.
So, I'll let you decide for yourselves if tree continued to torture the neighborhood or the wise man did manage to beat it's pants off.
No one could end the terror of this tree. No matter how diligently community workers were chopping off the branches, evil tree always found new uses for the fresh stumps. It would simply spit splinters and pierce balloons, waiting for the limbs to grow back, and city gardeners didn't have time to dedicate all their efforts to this single tree.
Neighbors from this tree's hood, who suffered the most from this wicked plant tried to bring goats and sheep to tame it. As you can tell for yourselves that was quite silly plan, but they conducted it. Sheep came. Browsed a bit at tree's sapling branches and roots, peed and that was all.
Desperate, citizens ceased trying to invent new brilliant scheme, so they simply invited a wise man. I don't know where did they find wise man's cell phone, but they managed to bring him in. He arrived and inspected tree from every side. He wrote down his observations in little black notepad. He had small torch light in shape of pencil. Or was it a pencil in shape of torch? Whatever, really. So he used it to light into the deep crevices in the dark tree's bark. He even took a sample with tiny hammer and chisel, and returned home.
So, I'll let you decide for yourselves if tree continued to torture the neighborhood or the wise man did manage to beat it's pants off.
R51
Someone passed by and left the following thought behind them:
- Dog is red
I turned too late, didn't see who said that. I carried that idea with me all the way to the bakery shop. I entered and bought a bun. It was dry and hard.
It's very interesting with baked goods. Usually, dry and hard would mean that it's stale. But this one was actually fresh. It belonged to that lost species of buns that's made of flour, salt, water and yeast.
So, my bad, I used the wrong wording. Word 'dry' made you think it was expired, but it simply was not one of the pumped up buns full of air. So you'll understand, I couldn't name it 'exhaled' or 'airless' bun. Also 'hard' was not the proper explanation. Admit it, you thought that hard would mean it's gone stale and bad, but in fact it was full, real.
I simply love that kind of buns!
- Dog is red
I turned too late, didn't see who said that. I carried that idea with me all the way to the bakery shop. I entered and bought a bun. It was dry and hard.
It's very interesting with baked goods. Usually, dry and hard would mean that it's stale. But this one was actually fresh. It belonged to that lost species of buns that's made of flour, salt, water and yeast.
So, my bad, I used the wrong wording. Word 'dry' made you think it was expired, but it simply was not one of the pumped up buns full of air. So you'll understand, I couldn't name it 'exhaled' or 'airless' bun. Also 'hard' was not the proper explanation. Admit it, you thought that hard would mean it's gone stale and bad, but in fact it was full, real.
I simply love that kind of buns!
R50
What's that gleaming in the distance? Lights were dancing. We were enchanted by the colors swirling on the horizon. I don't know if you've ever waited for dawn. It doesn't come gradually, but in sudden shifts of light. In an instant everything is bit more bright and sky becomes more blue so the invisible retreats and reveals the visible. I smiled to myself, and she thought that I was smiling at her, so she smiled as well, sighing longingly. I always loved the way her breasts heave when she does that. I recalled what they look like when she is naked next to me, as if they are spilled. Now breasts were held together by the hem of her dress, but swells still looked very lovely.
I stood up, shaking off the ashes and turned to the west. There, just behind that hill is our shelter. I offered her my hand and she pulled herself up. She leaned against her carbine and checked the magazine before the short weapon went slung across her shoulder.
I stood up, shaking off the ashes and turned to the west. There, just behind that hill is our shelter. I offered her my hand and she pulled herself up. She leaned against her carbine and checked the magazine before the short weapon went slung across her shoulder.
R49
- Do we have a mule in sight? - asked foreman Jack.
- Miasmos in five, jet your cans - Breaking through radio static, Bruce replied with his Aussie accent.
Five out of eight mining ships farted closed canisters filled with ore. Jack saw them through ship's cam as pearls highlighted by the sun against the darkness of space barely penetrated by flickering of asteroids doing their lazy dance of gravity.
- One more week and we'll be able to pay the rent - said Tharadin Kardula in voice devoid of joy.
Of course he couldn't be happy, there weren't even ten miners in the belt. He should be seeing at least three times the number, but most of his pilots were on vacation. Few more were still waiting for transfer from the Empire. Deep space relocation was only halfway through. They didn't have big transporters able for long jumps. Interstellar gates simply attracted pirates and rogue drones, so good number of pilots simply had to limp in life support capsules, managing to reach the corporation's new address through slow and arduous trek. If they don't fulfill the quota, they will lose all they've built so far. Cartel that rented them the mining system, Brotherhood of Trey, didn't look favorably to late payments. As soon as rent was overdue, they would swarm the system with titan destroyers, ready to force the payment or simply evict the poor miners.
- I see two - squealed Dani, officer in charge for telemetry and scanning
- Ok, back to base, guys - Kardula gave order.
As if the quota and rent were not enough, Tharadin had to run the operation without any fighter escort. Combat pilots were not known for their patience. Guarding the ponderous mining ships didn't sit too high on their list of entertaining and lucrative tasks.
Slow. Way too slow, mining barge ships started to shift and align towards the command tower. Before the mighty thrusters were ready to fire, first pirate ships zoomed in the belt...
Wednesday, March 7, 2018
R48
I promised to visit you in the dream. I don't know if I manged that. Probably not, because one day you just sent a message to announce that you are leaving forever. Memory is not yet gone, but it's fading. There is still and outline hard to grasp. Just like when you get up from the bed, and it stays warm for precious brief moments. Enough to remind me of your scent, not enough for me to rebuild you tracking that lead.
Why do I even miss you so much?
We never met each other. I never knocked at your door. Your children never looked at me shyly. I never made them dinner or lunch. We were never intertwined and I never caressed your tattoos with my fingertips, askinga bout each one. We never shared kisses, hiding away, craving for the next moment together.
Maybe that's the reason why?
Why do I even miss you so much?
We never met each other. I never knocked at your door. Your children never looked at me shyly. I never made them dinner or lunch. We were never intertwined and I never caressed your tattoos with my fingertips, askinga bout each one. We never shared kisses, hiding away, craving for the next moment together.
Maybe that's the reason why?
R47
I was in love with Christian girl from Pennsylvania.
She had it all figured out. That I will board the plane and fly to her house, that we will look at each other shyly, smiling. That we will take a biking tour up the river and visit the lakes, then hike through the beatuiful forests. After whole day of riding we will raise the tent and sit next to the fire. Maybe she will brush against me, sliding closer than it's actually needed for two persons to pass by each other in the wide outdoors. Her hand will maybe brush against mine or I will sit in such way that she can lean into me as I point at distant stars naming them. Of course we will pray together and then go inside the tents. Each to their own, of course.
I didn't even know her name, or what she looks like. I was probably not even in love with her, but in the ability of young girl to invent all this, to get excited and embarassed by her own fantasy and then to disappear.
She had it all figured out. That I will board the plane and fly to her house, that we will look at each other shyly, smiling. That we will take a biking tour up the river and visit the lakes, then hike through the beatuiful forests. After whole day of riding we will raise the tent and sit next to the fire. Maybe she will brush against me, sliding closer than it's actually needed for two persons to pass by each other in the wide outdoors. Her hand will maybe brush against mine or I will sit in such way that she can lean into me as I point at distant stars naming them. Of course we will pray together and then go inside the tents. Each to their own, of course.
I didn't even know her name, or what she looks like. I was probably not even in love with her, but in the ability of young girl to invent all this, to get excited and embarassed by her own fantasy and then to disappear.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)