Skip navigation

Category Archives: Short Story

Winter is Coming

Ah, George R.R. Martin, how the words of House Stark express my joy for the coming season. Granted, winters in Colorado don’t last for decades, like they can in Westeros, but that doesn’t mean that they’re anything to be feared. Rather, I embrace the cold and snow. Winter has always been my favorite season. I think that, as a writer, I thrive in the gloom and the chill that descends upon the state. I think it’s beautiful and poetic to see frost coating everything. It provides the perfect excuse to sit down with a nice drink (I hope to be stocking up on supplies for White Russians, personally), and curl up to read or write. I plan for great progress in the months to come. Colorado will be seeing real winter weather soon, as the snow already coating the top of Pikes Peak pointed out to me yesterday.

Winter brings with it my favorite holiday: Halloween. Honestly, any excuse to get dressed up in crazy costumes and eat a lot of candy works for me. I suppose that you could say that Halloween is a fall holiday, but it’s close enough for me. It will also, hopefully bring new employment. I could readily find myself seasonal employment in the retail world, though I dread that part of things too. I’ve worked one Christmas in retail, and I assure you, it was less than pleasant. When you have to work until 4 on Christmas Eve before beginning your four hour drive to see your family, and you have to be back to work on Boxing Day, it makes for a mildly stressful holiday experience.

Every so often, I come across something that is so useful, I have to share it with my friends. In this particular case, I’ve got the following chart. This was photocopied from a mouse pad my father used to own, and I still use it today, some five or six years later.

London Review of Books Alternate Key Chart

Stupidly Useful Thing #239

I can’t count how many times I’ve referred to this chart since I began my college career. There’s something absurdly refreshing about knowing how to type ß in the middle of a conversation in German, or to toss a little © at the end of some product description. Fantasy writers rejoice at being able to type all of those crazy spellings you’ve loved since you first sat down to read The Hobbit. Don’t know how to pronounce Ÿnwœ? Who cares. Make it up as you go along. Enjoy it.

I’m writing a fairy tale right now, for the next entry in Sonia M’s monthly writing challenges. It’s very likely, in its present state, to continue to build on the literary world that I’ve begun to craft in several of my previous entries. If all goes well, it will be up tomorrow, or even later tonight. Until then, I’ve still got a lot to do. I’m trying to find a place to call home still, even if it’s just short term. I don’t like having to rely on everyone else to shelter me. It’s already been nearly 3 weeks. I’m going a little crazier than usual. Oh well! Whatever gets those creative juices going, right? Anyway, winter will be here soon. More reason to revisit Ryuk, one of many characters I created for D&D games who would utilize cold-based weaponry and tactics. My necromancer I’m crafting now is his daughter, and she’s got a bit of a legend to go on, but other than that, she doesn’t realize who her father is/was. “Then a champion came from a frozen land, with ice in his breath and a scythe in his hand.”

August Writing Challenge: A Ball of Light in One’s Hand

Here it is, boys and girls! I’m ahead of schedule with this one, and I’m pretty pleased with how it turned out. That’s right, it’s time for the August Writing Challenge entry! Thanks to Sonia over at Doing the Write Thing for this month’s challenge prompt. This month, Sonia asked us to write a 500 word short story about doorways. It’s a little bit “Adjustment Bureau” and a little bit “Monsters Inc.”, and was a blast to write. Maybe I’ll tie it in to my May entry, “Fiction or Non?” just for kicks. Anyway, here goes. Bonus points to anyone who knows where the title comes from without googling it. 😀

“A Ball of Light in One’s Hand”

Damien gasped for breath as he ran across the temple’s cool, slick marble floor. He didn’t know where he was, or when, but he knew he was being pursued. He knew why. When he saw the tall woman, he sensed maliciousness, and he had fled through the nearest door. She followed.

Where had this all started? The bookshop, he thought to himself, careening around a corner through a stone door into a dimly lit log cabin. The snow outside the window hinted at a northern climate, far from his home, far from the room he’d just exited. He paused for a moment while the rest of his body caught up to his racing heartbeat before he moved to the nearest door. His raven hair surged behind him as a gust of wind greeted him, and he rushed through the portal into the unknown beyond.

He blinked. Bright desert sun shone down on him, and the smells of the marketplace he’d stepped into surrounded him, overwhelming and discomforting at the same time, for there was something familiar behind the smells. Paper. Paper and ink. Paper and ink and death. The bookseller was near. Damien’s nostrils flared as he tracked the tall woman’s scent.

She’d had the gift first. The book describing the techniques of door travel had been in her possession longer than she even knew, he suspected. There had been others before. Now Damien had learned, and she would pursue him until she killed him, as she killed all who attempted to use the door portals as she did. He’d heard the tales.

He turned and saw her, tall, thin, grey, cold, seeming to grow and blot out the light that surrounded them. Damien held up the book, knowing he had one desperate chance.

“Give me the book, boy, and I’ll kill you quickly.”

“‘The book should be a ball of light in one’s hand,’” he replied, quoting the book, remembering the day he’d first made his way into her bookshop. It had smelled of paper. Paper and ink. Paper and ink and death. Just like the woman who stood before him now. He’d not known the scent of death at the time, but as he had journeyed through the doors, he had learned many things. She had pursued him as soon as she realized he’d taken that book.

He had read it, learned the ways of the doors. They let him go anywhere, anytime, but he could not control it well. Not yet. Now he had little time to make a choice, and the tall woman who smelled of paper and ink and death stood before him. She had learned of his deception and tracked him through every door he’d ever used. Now she was here. Damien’s body tensed. The book began to shine. He opened to a picture of a great oaken door, open, waiting for him, threw it to the ground. Damien leapt, vanishing through the door, the book snapping shut behind him before vanishing as well.

Trans-Planetary Express

“Would you consider it?” the stranger asked me.

“Seriously?” I was incredulous.

“Seriously. The offer is being extended to you, and to you alone.”

“Why me?”

“They say that you’re the most suited for this particular task.”

“And it’s just open to me.”

“That is correct.”

“So none of my family or friends would be there.”

“In all likelihood, you wouldn’t see anyone you’ve ever met before for at least the next ten years.”

“Oh…”

“Is that going to be the determining factor? Should I tell my superiors that you’ve rejected our offer?”

“I just…I need some time to think about it.”

“You have 24 hours. I will leave you to your decision.”

“Thank you.” I ended the call. My mind was still racing at the idea of what I’d just been offered. Somehow, they had come up with my name. They wanted me. I had to tell my girlfriend. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and it was being given to me first and foremost, out of all of my peers.

The Mars mission was scheduled to depart Earth in six months time. Six months that would be spent in heavy training, preparing for the duration of the expedition, and I, a civilian writer, had been asked to take part. I told them that I was no journalist, I was a fiction writer. They wanted one of my colleagues, someone in better shape, someone more suited to human interest pieces. I had told them this, and they still persisted.

They said that they wanted someone who was familiar enough with Earth’s earlier fiction about space travel, someone who would be able to break down the barriers between fantasy and reality, and make the space program shine again. I asked them if they’d tried finding a publicist. To me, it sounded an awful lot like propaganda work. That was when they’d mentioned my dreams.

They knew all about the childhood fantasies of space travel, dreams I’d dismissed when I didn’t even manage to keep myself in the condition I’d need to play on the 7th grade football team. They knew that I longed to experience the kind of travel and exploration that had ceased to exist on our home planet, the kind that could only be found somewhere beyond Earth and the moon.

It would be a long trip, all of it spent in real-time. There was no way that any kind of stasis was viable. That technology was years, decades away. I didn’t care. We would have near-real-time transmission contact with Earth, so I would be able to send back stories from the ship on a weekly basis. It would be an all-expenses-paid trip to another planet. I would be one of the first humans to set foot on Mars.

I’d asked them why they picked me. They told me it was all about the dreams. They knew that mentally, I was more prepared for this trip than any other candidate that they had considered. I was more than intrigued, but still…leaving my family and friends behind for ten years, only able to communicate with brief messages back and forth.

I thought long and hard about my decision. I called my girlfriend and asked her for her advice. I consulted my father, and my closest friends. Everyone told me the same thing.

“It’s a chance to realize your greatest aspirations.”

“You can write the first piece of Martian literature!”

“We’ll miss you…”

Could I really do it? Could I leave them all behind, knowing full well that some of them might not be alive by the time I could return to Earth? My sleep that night was restless. When I finally managed to reach REM sleep, I dreamed of a small, secluded cabin, reminiscent of an old train compartment. Through a small porthole, I could see the Earth, far distant. In the cabin, a small desk sat with a computer terminal built into it. On the screen was a flashing cursor, preceded by the words “Greetings from the Trans-Planetary Express!” I saw myself, a wistful smile on my face, as I glanced through pictures from home.

When I awoke, I knew that my decision had been made. I picked up my phone, dialing the number that the man from the agency had given me.

“Have you made your choice?” a voice asked.

“I have,” I said calmly. “How much time do I have to say my goodbyes?”

“As much time as you need.”

July Writing Challenge: The Tale of the Sun and Moons: Part II

Today’s post is very special. It’s my 50th post on this blog! This is my entry for the July Writing Challenge, which asked us to write a piece involving moons. A few months ago, I presented my readers with this, a dialogue-only introduction to some of the characters in the novel I’m writing. Here, at last, is the initial draft of the second half of the story that Zach started to tell back in April. I hope you enjoy it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Tale of the Sun and Moons: Part II

Zach quietly made his way back to the fire, full mug in hand, and a grin on his face. “Are you all quite settled and ready for me to finish my story now?” he asked.

“Yes!” shouted Rebecca.

“Very well. As I said, there were two tribes of giants that roamed our world, in the time before there was even night and day. Now of these tribes, D’ossa and his fire giants controlled the most territory, but were slowly dying off. Zalar and his mate, Arkosa, ruled the frost giants, who, though numerous, were rapidly losing ground to D’ossa.

“Now D’ossa desired a mate, so that he could produce an heir, and female fire giants had been extinct for a century. D’ossa became enamored with Zalar’s wife, the frost giantess queen, and vowed that he would make her his. He knew that Zalar would never give up his wife freely, for the frost giant was no fool. Only by killing him could D’ossa hope to have his dreams realized. He rallied the few remaining fire giants to him, as he had given them his word that the fire giants would live on, if he could only take Arkosa for his own.

“The fire giants began a fierce attack against the castle of Zalar, and he personally led his own soldiers into battle against a smaller, but more ferocious force. For time uncounted, the combat raged on, until most of Zalar’s forces were defeated, and D’ossa stood alone, the last of the fire giants. D’ossa took his sword and slashed his way through Zalar’s castle. It was at this time that Zalar confronted his wife, Arkosa, and told her of D’ossa’s intentions. Two of his bravest guards took their place at the entrance to Arkosa’s chamber while the king hatched a daring plan to escape D’ossa.

“All too soon, the fire giant king had slaughtered all but the two remaining soldiers on the path to Arkosa’s chamber, and they stood before the door, their own swords crossed. As D’ossa locked blades with them, Zalar spoke to his wife, telling her that no matter what, he would always find a way to be near her. At that moment, D’ossa burst through the door, the blood of the king’s warriors on his sword. He entered the room just in time to see Lady Arkosa leap into the sky, leaving her king behind. King Zalar stood unarmed, waiting for D’ossa to act. In a silent rage, the fire giant followed into the sky, but her lead was too great. She would ever outpace him.

“Zalar took the swords of his most loyal fallen guards and the abandoned blade of D’ossa, and placed them in the ground before the entrance of his castle. Then, he too took to the skies, eternally pursuing the fire giant who pursued his queen. So it was that D’ossa became our world’s sun, and Zalar and Arkosa became her moons, ever chasing one another across the sky, fire and frost.”

Fiction or Non?

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you my entry for Sonia M’s May writing challenge. I call it “Fiction or Non?” and it is based in part of a real experience. Enjoy.

“Things are not as they seem.”

That’s what the scrap of paper said, tucked inside of a book in the drop at the library where I work on the weekends. What did it mean?

Mind racing, I immediately thought of movies with like The Matrix, The Pagemaster, Dark City, even The Neverending Story. All dealt with things like this, but this was happening to ME, not some character on the big screen. I looked around, and realized that the hands on the clock behind my station weren’t moving. I glanced back to the paper in my hand. Still there.

“Things are not as they seem.”

Looking back up, I saw that the ladies I worked with were no longer there. Neither were the patrons or the security guards. Turning full circle, paper in hand, I realized that I was alone. “What the hell?” Never had the library been so still, even after hours. It was as though my world had stopped.

“Things are not as they seem.”

“Where did you come from?” I asked the paper. It was unlike any paper I’d ever seen, more like parchment. As if responding, the paper blew out of my hand on a non-existent breeze, wafting through the air toward the stacks. I followed, not knowing what else to do, and guessing that even if I tried, I would be unable to open the front doors. I followed the paper farther back than the library should have gone, passing new books, non-fiction, sci-fi, romance, and mystery, until the paper finally turned at row 55 (out of 43), and found myself in a chamber large enough to hold the entire facility of my library twenty times over. Mouth agape, I gazed upon the unending rows of shelves of tomes that no mortal eye had ever seen. I looked behind me for the path that I’d followed here, though I knew deep down that I wouldn’t see it. That world was long gone.

“Things are not as they seem.”

This time I heard the voice, an old woman’s voice, whispering all around me.

“What is this place?!”

“You have been chosen, young one. Guard this place, for it contains the knowledge of all worlds. Once I was young, but now my time has come. I pass my station to you.”

A rush of air hit me as the world seemed to come to life once more. My old clothes were gone. In their place were tunic, breeches, cloak, sandals. In my left hand was a simple staff, in my right, the scrap of paper that started all of this.

“Things are not as they seem.”

No, they’re not. They’re better. I have a new library, and I will guard it, and in time, I too will choose a successor. I will write the words in the great book of worlds, and they will make their way into the hands of a worthy guardian, the next librarian. It is my duty.

“Things are not as they seem.”

March Writing Challenge

Courtesy of Sonia M. over at Doing the Write Thing, I’ve discovered this month’s writing challenge. So, in response, here is my story. I call it “Hearing.”

I should have listened with both ears instead of one. Things might have been different tonight. I’d been warned, and I heard them, yeah, but I didn’t listen. That’s the critical bit, I suppose. Ah, hindsight.

I glanced down at my right leg, the small pool of blood collecting near my feet finally drawing my attention. “I suppose I deserve that, don’t I?” I muttered, looking for something to use as a bandage. “Screw it. There’s not much left in me anyway.” I glanced out the window. The helicopter lights were growing closer, and I could hear the increasing wail of the sirens. “Well, at least I know where I stand,” I chuckled, knowing full well that I would be lucky if I could sit up straight by the time they got to the otherwise empty apartment I was hiding out in.

I guess you could say that I regretted the way things had gone. I mean, if I’d truly listened, I would have seen it coming. Too late, though. They wouldn’t let me go now. The phone began to ring, and I, out of habit, answered it. “What?”

“Are you listening now?”

“More than ever.”

“You have one chance.”

“What do I do?”

“You know.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Good. If you truly mean it, you know what to do.”

“I love you.”

Click.

I dropped the phone and my gun in the crimson on the floor.

I raised my hands and I waited, patiently listening to approaching sirens.