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Better late than never

January 28, 2016 Leave a comment

Sorry for the delay. I screwed up. (Shrug)

Physical Therapist

Mary ran her fingers over the connectors, making sure that they had adhered to the skin. “Are you ready?”, she asked.

“Yeah.”

She turned the knob. There was a soft clicking sound as the machine began to push current into the man’s muscles. Mary could see the skin twitch as his muscles reacted to the electricity. “Now tell me when its good.”

He could handle the machine being turned up to 14. This was much more than most, but nowhere near as high as the device would go. Pansy, she thought. Just like all the rest. Wimps and pansies.

***

The bar was far more crowded for a Tuesday night that was typical. Mary looked over her shoulder as another group of mongoloid undergrads stomped in.

“You need another?”

She turned back to the bartender, nodding. “Why so many people tonight?”

“Everyone is tryin to get a few in before the snow storm hits in the mornin.”

Three different guys tried hitting on her, but Mary knew they weren’t going to be up to the task. They looked weak.

“Hello.”

The little brunette that sat down beside her was also a student. She had dark eyes and tattoos on her collar bones. Piercings all over her face showed that she wasn’t afraid to experiment. The little rainbow pin on her jacket said that she was trying to succeed where the boys had been shot down.

Mary was about to turn away, but then she noticed the scars on the girls wrist. It was a pattern, like a celtic knot, but it was deep. She had branded it into her skin.

Mary smiled. “Hello there.”

***

“Are you sure?”, Mary asked.

The girl nodded. “I’ll try anything you want to.”

Mary smiled as she slipped the gag into the young woman’s mouth. Then she started applying the connectors, making sure they had adhered to the skin properly. She reached down, put her fingers on the knob, and felt a tingle in her own stomach as the soft clicking started up. They would be going way past 14 tonight.

The girl screamed, and Mary moaned.

Then she turned the knob again.

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Found

January 20, 2016 2 comments

“I couldn’t believe they spoke to me that way. How dare they. Where the fuck do they get off calling me a poser? What do any of them have to show for all their efforts?”

Jack kicked at a paper cup lying in his path. Between it being wet from the rain and the sounds of the storm, he didn’t get to hear the whack of his shoe as it sent the little cup out into the street.

“How in the hell do you get off telling someone they’re a noob when you haven’t got anything to show for years of practice?”

He stomped towards the train station, reliving his rejection with every step. The Ordo had declined his application. Marcus, a wide and bearded magician with a large reputation, had lost his temper when Jack had questioned his decision. “You lack any sort of results in your practice and you don’t show the discipline needed for our work.”

After a few more choice words, the group and expelled Jack.

“I need to find a way to show them how wrong they are,” Jack said the words, needing to hear himself as he declared his intentions. “I need to teach them the error of their ways.”

this time, he kicked an old metal garbage can. Even with the rain, he heard the hollow clang of his boot and then a few more as the can bounced down the sidewalk before smacking into an old car’s bumper.

When he got to it, the can’s lid was rocking back and forth. Jack kicked it again and smiled as it spun away like a child’s top. He drew back to aim at the can again, but stopped when he saw the yellow and black thing in the can.

It was a composition book, like the ones that he used for his journals, but yellow instead of red or white. The cover was creased and the book was swollen from use. On the cover, the previous owner had drawn an odd little star with extra lines popping off it.

Jack touched his arm, his mouth hanging open before darting forward to snatch up the book. He tucked it under his arm, protecting it from the rain with his coat and ignoring the chance that he was smearing something from the can on his favorite shirt. He hurried home, eager to examine his find.

He was lucky. His car was almost empty. So he took out the book, and pulled up his sleeve.

The symbols were the same. The sigil he had tattooed on his arm two years ago, the one he had invented to be his magical name, was drawn on the little notepad’s cover with a sharpie.

“What the hell.”

Bollies

January 13, 2016 Leave a comment

“If you don’t get to work the Bollies will get you.”

I heard these words so many times while I was growing up. My grandmother would say them to me every time she thought I was loafing. I understand now. With all the responsibilities of raising a grandchild dropped onto her lonesome head one rainy fall day, she had a lot to worry about. She had gotten he farm and the family, but without any help, in a second.

My grandmother had watched my grandfather take a firm hand with my father. She told me stories, usually when I was being difficult or ornery, about how grandpa would have tanned my hide if he had been there.

Btu he wasn’t. She had been alone before I had arrived. Alone in the little house that my father had built for her. He had made the place for his mother so that he could raise a family in the big house. Her place was tiny, sitting beside the barn, and empty.

Today, I am sitting on the porch and I am alone. Grandma didn’t make it through the winter and I don’t know what to do without her. I’m old enough to keep the farm, but I don’t know what to do now.

It looks like it has been raining on the steps between my boots. Hot, salty rain that leaves my eyes swollen.

The sun has risen, though it had only just set when I walked out here and took my seat. The rooster is crowing, and I can hear one of the cows calling out by the pond.

A sharp crack of a limb being stepped on causes me to lift my head. It could have been anything, but the sound makes me think of something sneaking up on me. That noise brought back her voice.

“If you don’t get to work the Bollies will get you.”

“Can’t have the Bollies getting me,” I say, standing up and starting towards the barn. “That just wouldn’t do.”

A New Home

January 6, 2016 Leave a comment

We sat in the growing dark, the sun already below the horizon. What little light remained was blocked out by the limbs above us. We kept our lights off.

The words were whispered into my ear. So quiet that they were felt more than heard. The touch of her breath sent shivers down my spine. “How much longer?”

I shrugged. I had no way to know. She knew that, but I thought the question was more to banish the silence and her fear of the dark than to find out how long we would wait to see them.

The rustling above us was the sign I had been waiting for. I clicked on my little light, the tiny sense covered with red tape to make the light less obvious.

The box had been built on a weekend. I had climbed the tree and hung it a week later. There was o way to know when they had found it, but now, we watched the little owl stick its head out into the world.

I felt her tremble, and smiled, as we watched our new friend fly away in silence.