The Horror!

Courtney gasped for breath, fighting off the stitch in her side. She chanced a look backward, and regretted it--her pursuer had gained on her. I will fight, I will fight! she screamed in her head, and tried desperately to put on a burst of speed.

It was to no avail. She wasn't going anywhere, even though she was running at top speed. Her father ran ever closer, until he grabbed her around the waist. "Eat it!"

"No!" Never would she do the evil act again!

"Eat the sauerkraut, Courtney!"

"I won't!" She knew that the sauerkraut was evil! It was causing a beeping noise in the back of her brain! It became louder and louder, taking over her entire being...

"Courntey, wake up! We have to get to the potluck!"

"Huh?" She opened her eyes and looked around, suddenly relieved. "Oh. Yeah. Um, sorry."

"Didn't you hear your alarm?" her mom asked.

"Well, sorta..." That explains the beeping.

"Get going. We have to be at church in 15 minutes. Don't forget, you promised to try Mrs. Koepp's sauerkraut today."

No!

"Come to me in my dreams, and by day I will be well again." Matthew Arnold.

Lost in Transition

I can't explain,


I know somehow.



I can't find

what I should.



It's there somewhere.



Or is it?



Things aren't

the same

anymore.



I feel

I should've known


that this would be



lost in transition.

Untitled Story 1 :: Chapter 1 :: Part 1

It all seems like a half remembered dream, what happened before. The work was coming along beautifully. We were about half way done when the accident happened. A beam fell from somewhere above, and all I managed to do, after the shout, was not be crushed vertically.

I should have died from that, seing as it crushed most of my stomach and upper thighs, but the Central Galactic Coalition fixed me up and subsequently "volunteered" me for the the star navy.

My father's last words to me, when he was arrested for illegal product trafficking, were: "Look after your sister for me. I love you, son." I have never forgotten that day or his words, and have taken care of my sister, just as he asked. So I guess she also took care of me, in the only way she could, at that time, even knowing the consequences. As it was, she came with me into the navy.

My sister has always had an affinity for machines, so we managed to get her a job as a mechanic. Amazingly, one of the captains took enough of a liking to us to get on the same ship, which happened to be his.I guess his superiors wanted any trouble we caused to be confined to our benefactors.

I managed Star Marine, because they fixed me up and "upgraded" me. Thermal vision, limited zero-oxygen operation, a scope link to our eyes, a laser cutter/welder that folds out of one arm and a katana that folds out of the other. We also have "cybernetic musculature enhancement" and armor implants. They also gave us rocket "bikes", nicknamed "crotch rockets". We get all the glamour and fame and all the high tech weaponry, but really, they treat us like starman rookies, maybe even worse...

***TO BE CONTINUED***

Darklight, Chapter One

The world is darkness, and darkness is death. -High Brilliance Ebenezer of Hearth

The Laws are simple. Harm no one. Fulfill thy role. Diminish not the Light. Keep ye from the Darkness. We learned these at a young age, before even reading the Scriptures. Four simple rules, and every one was obeyed. Mostly.
All have violated the First, to varying degrees. The punishments have always been as the act. When one strikes his brother, his brother strikes back, and the Law is restored. If a crime is too severe for retribution- if one must die many deaths- he is sent off the Paths. Within the Darkness, life is the worst punishment of all.
The Second Law is rarely broken. Failure to tend one's Light brings its own Darkness. I've known only two who forsook their assigned roles. Mortimer, the drunk, and Father. Father was drunk oftentimes too, but we took cares to keep him from the public eye. Mortimer was not so lucky. He was often known to rave in the square before the Darkness took him.
The Third is stronger than the first two; it is the greatest of the Laws. I've never seen it broken, though there was a rumor some time ago about a madman in Hearth. They say he was throwing his tools at the Glowlamps in the market. A legion of Luminators is said to have removed him. He was never seen again.
The Fourth Law is never punished. The Fourth Law is never broken. None stray from the Paths unless forced. None choose Darkness.
Death is safer.

Jacques

Jacques Cousteau faced the open doorway of the zeppelin, feeling the wind in his beard. Behind him, the werezombie crew was beginning to stir from their slumber. If he was still in the vessel when they regained their limited faculties, he would be torn to pieces in their unending search for polysaturated fats.
Jacques spat a clot of phlegm to test the zeppelin's speed. Fast, but not fast enough.
Unless.
Jacques ran into the depths of the dirigible, leaping over the twitching bodies and dodging their already-grasping limbs. He hopped down an open hatch to the boiler room. He found the case on the wall, and he removed a bicuspid to work the lock open.
It was hot in the boiler room, and the exhausting work of fine motor movements was taking its toll on Jacques. May the Pinguen people forgive me he thought as he removed his +5 Parka of Uncomfortable Temperature Increase. It disintegrated in the air, and from the ash came a wisp of steam that looked suspiciously like an omen to warn him that things of a primarily negative nature would befall him at some unspecified point in the future because of his rash action rose from it.
Cooler now, Jacques was able  to concentrate his thoughts on the task at hand, and soon popped the case open. Inside were but two things. A collapsed hang-glider, which he quickly set up, and a plasma whip. This he secreted in his bicuspid's previous slot, and so prepared, he readied for flight.
By the time the lycanthropic undead arrived, the only evidence Jacques had ever been there was the gaping hole in the wall.

Ommatidia

 Their hands linked, they fought against the flow of people. So what if it was dangerous up there? It was dangerous everywhere. In minutes, it wouldn't matter. The crowd thinned after a few flights, and by the time they had reached the top floor, the building was deserted. Giving her hand a squeeze, he opened the door. The sirens were louder now, and the meteor's harsh red glow cast everything into a hellish light. Ignoring it all, they walked to the edge and sat, legs dangling. Arms around each other, they waited for the end. She smiled at him. A tear fell.

Forgiveness?

Eli stared out the door of the closet, hate pounding through his blood like poison. There was only one word in his mind, and such a hypnotizing word it was:

Revenge.

The man had taken Eli's wife Sarah, children, home, possessions... everything. The last time Eli saw Rabbi Solomon, he had told both Eli and Sarah about forgiveness. They had been fighting for months--years, even--and were thinking about divorce. God forgave you to set an example, the man had said. He forgives so that you may forgive each other, and others.

Eli had agreed with the rabbi then, but scorned the idea now. How could he--anyone--be expected to not only forget what this kidnapper and theif had done, but also care for him? Love him?

Rabbi Solomon had to be out of his mind. He was an old man, unmarried. How on earth could he know what it felt like to lose everything to live for?

Slowly pulling the knife out of its sheath and edging out of the closet door, Eli took aim. Some said that learning how to throw a knife was a waste of time, but they, obviously, were wrong.

As he stared at his brother, now the head of the house--Eli's ex-wife's husband, and his children's stepfather--he laughed inside at the ridiculous idea.

Forgiveness. Yeah, right.

"What the world needs is love, sweet love; that's the only thing there's just too little of." Burt Bacharach.

Seven Cities: Chapter One

Jillian Baker was sitting at her window when the world ended. She had no way of knowing that the apocalypse had begun that morning, little over eight hundred miles away. All she knew was that the squirrel on her bird feeder was staring back at her.
She had been watching it stuff its cheeks with the seed she bought for birds she didn't really care for. If she had guests that evening, she would have made a fuss over the waste. As it was, though, she got a guilty thrill from seeing the rodents scamper around her yard.
The squirrel was still staring. Jillian wondered briefly if it had rabies, but dismissed the idea. Squirrels can't become rabid; they get killed too easily. Besides, how could it see her with the sun shining directly into her yard? She should be shadowed.
Maybe the squirrel saw something on the window itself. Which would be odd, considering Jillian cleaned it only last Thursday, but strange things do happen.
Strange like a squirrel staring at you?
Jillian shook her head. She was imagining it, somehow. Maybe she had taken too much of he medication earlier. That could be it, right? Medication made people crazy sometimes.
She stifled a scream as the timer indicated that her cookies were done. Chuckling nervously, she went to her kitchen and drew them out. They were undercooked she knew, still gooey. Squirrels weren't her only guilty pleasure. As a girl, she had loved cookie dough, but now her fear of disease made her cook the salmonella to death.
She set the pan on the stove top, and set her kitchen timer for five minutes. She knew it would still be burning hot in that short time, but she couldn't wait longer. The flavor was worth a numb tongue. She went back to her living room window.
The squirrel was still there. Jillian considered chasing it off, but what if it was rabid? It would be much safer, she decided, to stay inside.
When the timer beeped again, she went for her snack, pretending to herself that it wasn't relief she felt when leaving the window seat.
The cookie was tasteless, and she found milled around the kitchen for a while before deciding to go to bed. It was nearly six after all.
Yep. After a long day of yard-watching, nothing feels better than a long rest. Six isn't too early. Early to bed and early to rise.
She made sure to spend extra time brushing her teeth, letting it grow a little later. Then, in her favorite nightgown, she crawled into her bed, trying not to think of the squirrel.
It was midnight when she finally fell asleep.

Untitled Story 1 :: Prologue

As I struggle to move along the cold metal corridor, I hear nothing. Nothing at all, but for my faint breathing. No explosions, no destruction, no engine... No life support. Stranded in the middle of nowhere with no one in reach of any communications. Trying to find the oxygen and will to keep going. Trying to find a shuttle, a suit hookup. Trying to find my sister. Trying to find life. Trying to find anything. I drag myself through a hatch. I seal it and vent the remaining air and heat from the previous corridor. Still not enough. My vision is going. I can almost see the suit hookup. Almost, but it is just out of my grasp. I crawl forward, nearly blind. Something knocks the ship, sending me backwards. Blackness. My vision is gone. I hear what might be footsteps running down the corridor, then that is gone too. I have a strange sensation of floating. Then nothing. Nothing at all... I have failed her. My sister. I have died. I promised to keep her safe, and I died...

Introductions

Hi, I'm Xanthurian (for relevant purposes). I am a new author of this blog, and thought I might introduce myself... I will start by writing most Wednesdays (Reogan gave me this Tuesday to introduce myself). Most of my posts will be my new story (story four) for now... I will welcome comments on my work (that's what a blog's for anyway, isn't it?)... I think that's it...