Short Writings

Filmed before a live studio audience!

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“And we’re back in five, four, three…”

For just a moment, Azistopheles glared at the producer. Why did the damned soul never say the last two numbers? The whole point of counting down was to reach zero. He never seemed to make it there, always stopping with a couple numbers to go.

An instant later, however, the devil’s expression brightened, and he beamed into the camera. “Welcome back to ‘Who Wants To Be A Torture Victim?’!” he announced happily. “If you’re just tuning in, which you shouldn’t be since you’re all in Hell, we’re about to bring down our next contestant!” Continue reading →

Jawing Around at Poker Night

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“So as I see it, the big problem is the bell curve, y’know?”

Riley focused on dealing out the cards, watching their blue-and-white backs slide away from him across the smooth wood of the table. He wished that his deft fingers were sensitive enough to feel the patterns of ink printed on the reverse, to know their identities without flipping them over. Karsten’s chatter was little more than background.

Across the table, Hale grunted. “Bell curve? Karsten, what’re you talking about?”

“Society!” Karsten responded instantly. “C’mon, you can’t deny that the whole thing’s a crock of shit, just goin’ to more shit, isn’t it? Go on, put your hand on your heart and tell me that things aren’t worse than before.” Continue reading →

Seaport

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The smell of rotting fish and plankton rankled at Ethry’s nostrils as he scrambled over the wet planks, dodging between the lumbering dockworkers. A couple men shouted angrily as the urchin ran between their tree trunk legs, but Ethry was always gone by the time they could try and make a grab at him.

All around him, he heard the buzz of commerce, of industry at work. Crates were in constant motion; some descended down gangplanks and were lowered by cranes onto the ships, ready to go to the far corners of the Empire. Other crates came off the ships, hauled by cranes or on the shoulders of burly dockworkers, deposited in stacks on the wharf and smelling of exotic locations that Ethry could only imagine.

Up ahead of him, a heavy-set man with a large beard cursed in half a dozen languages as his foot caught at a raised plank in the dock. He tripped, and the crate on his shoulder sent oval, pink fruits scattering across the salt-warped boards.

Ethry didn’t pause to help pick up the fruits. His good deed, he knew, would at best be rewarded with a grunt of thanks, and nothing more. More likely, he’d earn himself a kick or a cuff about the ear, along with some more curse words to add to his vocabulary.

Instead, he hurried by without pausing. Only after he’d ducked down into a narrow alley between two buildings, away from the scene, did he grin and remove the two pink fruits from his jacket that he’d snagged off the ground as he passed. Continue reading →

The General’s Request

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The whole thing happened, when we get down to it, because of a vanilla frappuccino.

Why the general requested a vanilla frappuccino, no one knows. Maybe he felt especially parched that day, as he stood in the dusty, hot command tent and shouted orders at his inferiors. Maybe a couple neurons got crossed in his brain, and he had a momentary flashback to a conversation with his teenage daughter, who was going through that particularly disagreeable phase in her life when she felt as if she ought to be completely independent, despite still needing her parents to provide her with everything.

In any case, when the unfortunate lieutenant who pulled that week’s “drinks bitch” duty sidled up to the general and asked if he’d like something to drink, the general spun to glare at him from beneath stormy, overgrown eyebrows, a pair of gray caterpillars writhing across his face.

“Vanilla frappuccino!” he snapped at the hapless lieutenant. “And make sure it’s cold!” Continue reading →

Welcome to my Evil Lair!

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I fought against the bonds that pinned my wrists and ankles to the examination table, struggling helplessly. “Release me, foul doctor!” I shouted out into the darkness.

“What- oh, is someone there?” drifted back a response.

I paused. “Hello? Yes, please, I have been captured and need your assistance!” I called out next, pitching my voice a bit lower. Perhaps this was a janitor, not understanding that he cleaned an evil lair, or maybe a beautiful daughter that I could seduce to earn my freedom-

“Give me a minute,” the other voice called out, and I heard someone shuffling about, muttering to himself. Probably not a daughter, then, but I pinned my hopes on the janitor theory. Continue reading →

Flintholm

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He walked up the path, his eyes hazy with clouded memories.

The weeds and grass had overgrown everything, but he still could see the lay of the land, recognize landmarks from when he shrieked and climbed and ran over every inch of the property. That was back before his knees hurt, before the War, before the bombs, before everything changed and his innocence fled, never to return.

The grass beneath his feet shifted, and he looked down at the cobblestone path that lay beneath. Many of the stones were cracked and broken. He’d found a snail, once, crawling along slowly between two stones, and he spent an entire afternoon building a shelter for the little creature out of sticks and leaves. Continue reading →

Pestilence’s Retirement

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“Are you sure that we can’t convince you to reconsider?”

On the other side of the cracked laminate table, Pestilence shook his head. “Afraid not,” he repeated. “Look, you’ve all seen the writing on the wall for a while. I’m just not useful any longer.”

Pestilence’s three companions all shuffled their feet, or lower appendages, rather uncomfortably. That silence was enough to confirm Pestilence’s suspicions, although he held his tongue out of respect for their shared history.

“It just won’t be the same without you, buddy,” grunted the very large man wedged into the booth on the other side, shaking his massive head sadly. “We’ve had a hell of a run together.” Continue reading →

Boreray

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My arms ached as I bent my back over the oars. The boat cut clumsily through the water, sending up splashes of spray whenever I hit a wave. I cursed at the oars of the blocky little rowboat, but kept on pulling.

Every now and then, I’d cast a glance over my shoulder, up at Boreray. The island, gloomy and wild, towered up out of the mist. Cliffs rose up in uneven teeth that bit at the dim sky, and birds winged constantly around their peaks, shrieking with harsh, hoarse cries.

My fate lay on Boreray. Continue reading →

“The only ones who should kill are those willing to be killed.”

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The grizzled old man glared around the courtyard at us as we stood, shivering and huddled together. Despite the chill in the air, he wore only a cuirass strapped over a thin shirt and a pair of trousers, and he didn’t show any sign of feeling the cold.

His pale eyes, unblinking in the weak sunlight, roamed over us. Most of my companions flinched away from that gaze. We all knew the stories.

Roland Amarain, former First Prince of the Sword. The man had stood in defense of the kingdom for decades, and I’d heard countless legends of him wading into battle, his great blade Calador slicing through hundreds of his opponents. He’d taken dozens of arrows and wounds, but stubbornly refused to fall, performing miracles to defend his Queen.

Now, no longer a bodyguard, he was tasked with training us. The next class of Guardians, men who hoped to one day stand beside their Queens and defend them against all threats. Continue reading →

Too Close to Home

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Groaning to myself, I risked another glance up at the clock, taunting me from the far wall.

Forty more minutes to go. Forty minutes until my shift ended, and I could get out of this soul-crushing office and go back home, where I’d…

Well, I didn’t really have any plans for the night. Watch some television? Crack open the last couple of beers in my fridge, finish them off? Lay on my couch and stare up at the ceiling, wondering about where my life had somehow taken a wrong turn, ending up so mundane and banal that I had to self-medicate most nights with booze in order to forget about how much everything sucked?

So many possibilities, I darkly told myself. Continue reading →