Strangels

I was sitting at a table, enjoying the slight chill in the air as I held my cup beneath my nose. The steam warmed the tip and the aroma of vanilla and honey made my mouth water. For the first morning of my retirement, I thought things were going well.

The first of them walked across the street and stopped a few cars down. She was beautiful in a way that I couldn’t have described the day before. All long, lean limbs and cute, captivating curves. I might not enjoy being alone, but it did make it easier to stare. Although as I looked at her clothing, an almost see through green sack of a dress with a pair of heavy, brown work boots and one spotted sock, I realized that everyone was staring at the woman.

When he friend appeared beside her, the woman at the next table gasped. I never asked if the gasp was due to him just appearing, and I was surprised that I hadn’t noticed him walking up, or if it was because the loose running shorts he was wearing left a portion of his anatomy hanging out down the leg. Honestly, I didn’t need to know. The man was so well built and gifted that I would have considered switching teams if he had asked.

I was lost in thought as a pair of children ran down the sidewalk. The little girl who was running from her brother came to a sudden stop when she saw the adonis standing in front of her. Her brother was distracted by the woman and did not stop. He plowed into his sister, knocking them both to the pavement in a tangle of skinned knees and bloody elbows.

As children often do, they began to scream and cry in response to their injuries. The whole of the little cafe’s patronage pulled their eyes from the visions of beauty to look upon the injured. The pair stepped toward the children, who ignored the beauties to focus upon their pains.

It might come as some surprise, but this is when things got weird.

The woman, her gown falling off of her to reveal far more than has ever been accepted as modest, knelt beside the girl and grabbed her face. She kissed the child full on the mouth before wetting her fingers in her mouth and then shoving one in each of the child’s ears. While giving the girl a double wet willy, the woman bent further forward and licked the blood from each of the child’s knees with a tongue that would have made an anteater proud.

The man, lowered his pants a bit around his bottom before squatting over the pursuing brother and lifting a single finger into the air. As he did, the sound of the gas he passed seemed to echo off the building behind me. I was aware of a car alarm going off, though at that moment I could not remember if it had been honking it’s warning before the fellow farted or not.

Both children were silent. The diners were silent. The passing pedestrians were silent. Even the cars were stopped at a red light. The only sound was that stupid car alarm.

The pair stood straight, and the sun reflecting off the windows illuminated them. For a moment, they were haloed in soft gold, then they each started walking in opposite directions. The children’s mother ran up to check on them and I looked back at the woman at the next table.

We made eye contact and I began to worry about her. She was pale, her lips a light blue, and I wondered if she would be able to keep her seat. Her eyes were wide and wild as she gulped like an old cartoon character. “The kids,” she whispered. “They were hurt from falling.”

I looked at them, and saw what the woman meant. No scrapes and no cuts. The boy looked nauseous and the little girl was wiggling her finger in her ear as if trying to dry it after swimming, but neither was bleeding anymore.

“It’s a miracle,” the woman said. Her words drew my attention back and I saw that she was clutching the cross hanging from her neck. “That was a miracle. They must have been angels.”

“Strange angels,’ I said, slurring the words together into a single unrecognizable one as I tried to make my brain and mouth work together after the spectacle. I licked my lips and cleared my throat before trying again. “Strange angels indeed.”

In a Flash

The camera was one of the greatest inventions of all time. It allowed for a moment in time to be captured forever. It allowed for memories to be kept without fail. It allowed the world to look back and see the truth in things that would have otherwise been forgotten.

For humans.

For the rest of us, it created a way to be caught and known for what you are. It allowed for our unnatural actions to be recorded rather than rationalized. It was also forced us to see what we had done. To look back on things we might wish we had forgotten and know we would never escape them.

I don’t take pictures. I don’t like them to be taken; and if I see you lift that phone up and point it at me, I will rip your arm off.

Does that answer the question of whether or not you can take my picture since no wasn’t good enough?

Car Bomb

George stumbled down the hall, one hand on the wall and the other holding his stomach. With every step, his feet drug a little more.

“I’m not going to make it,” he mumbled.

The explosion rocked the hallway, and George thought the building might be coming down on top of him. Pain erupted in his guts like a volcano, burning and tearing at his consciousness. He felt his pulse hammer in his temples as he struggled to take another step.

***

“Don’t you think you might be a little dramatic in that description?”

Martin turned to look at his wife, Carla, and gave her a sheepish grin. “Dramatic is what sells stories.”

“Really? Drama about having the flu and not making it to the bathroom from the couch?”

Martin felt his face heat up from his blush. “This is supposed to be a crime story where the hero got shot in the gut.”

She nodded, looking at him with a skeptical smirk. “Right. Sure. And the fact that you had a little case of the flu last week has nothing to do with that description?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay Mr. Writer,” she said, a devious grin spreading across her delicate face. “Then what exploded in the hallway?”

Martin turned back to the screen and frowned. “Uhhhh. Car bomb?”

She laughed as she left her husbands office.

A New Home

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.

And now for something very different

Josh stretched, pointing his toes and squinting one eye. The squinting didn’t seem to help, but it felt right so he did it anyway. After a moment, he stuck the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. Still no help.

“Almost,” Marty said. “About two more niches.”

“That’s what she said,” Larry stood by the doorway, smiling and looking down the hallway.

Josh gave up with a huff and slumped. “I can’t get it.”

The three of them stared at the machine. The package of donuts, with one extra, hung by the edge of its wrapper, pinched between the metal bar and the shelf.

Office Politics

Faye stomped her heel on the ground with a sharp click. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I had no idea she was behind me, so when it happened I jumped. I looked back over my shoulder, trying to keep my eyes on hers instead of staring at her cleavage. I have never understood why a woman who was that anti-social would always wear clothing that drew your attention. “Ummm…”

“That isn’t much of an answer. Want to try again?”

Most days, I would have just grinned and tried again. I am usually very mild mannered. After spending the weekend fighting with my in-laws, todays wasn’t most days.

“Sure,” I said, spinning around in my chair and standing up so that I towered over her. “What the hell I think I am doing is my job. I am trying to fix the code,” I made air quotes for that word, “that your development group gave m since is doesn’t actually work. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Her mouth dropped open. She stared at me like she had just been slapped.

I took a very deep breath to try and steady my nerves before leaning down a bit to look her in the eye. “While I admit that I normally ignore your stomping in here to complain; today isn’t normal. So, unless you want to get into a screaming match here, you need to politely ask whatever it is you came in here to ask.”

She wet her lips and backed up a step. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I was stunned. I figured she would take an attitude with me. I hadn’t been prepared for her to be polite. “Thank you.”

We had our discussion, I demonstrated the code problems and she took notes. To my amazement, Faye even smiled as she left.

The e-mail arrived so that I was reading it on my way to my car. I sighed, cursed, and then turned around to walk back into the office. One elevator and half a mile of hallways later, I’m at Faye’s door.

I should have knocked before walking in, but I didn’t. She was inside, sitting behind her desk. Two members of security and one lady from HR were all seated around her.

When she looked at me, she smiled, and it looked frosty enough to make her skin turn blue. “Oh good,” she said. “We have a lot to discuss.”

Now, as I watch her pull into her garage, I look at the gun in the passenger seat and decide that this time, I will be the one who stomps on the floor when she doesn’t know someone is behind her.

Something wrong with that horse

I don’t know why, but I seem to be in some sort of funk. Two weeks ago, the story I wrote was just sad. I realize that there is a time to write something tear jerking, but I don’t know who would want to read it.

So last week, when it started to shape up that way again, I scrapped my story and wrote a new one.

This week, I wrote a tear jerker of an old yeller variety and shelved it before writing the blurb below. I don’t know why everything is coming out sad. Some psychiatrist somewhere probably does, but I refuse to pay to find out.

Who reads sad and depressing? I may have found my niche if I can find an audience.

Oh well, I decided to post something else. I just don’t think people want to read sad. If you think I am wrong, let me know.

Today’s story is another attempt to get out of the rut with a bang. I hope you enjoy it.

L. E. White

Shield

Josh rolled to the left, around the door frame, a second before the shotgun knocked the window out. The glass flew across the room, sharp edges cutting holes in the bags of white powder that sat on the little table.

Josh tried to keep going left, but he slammed his thigh into a table and fell on top of it. His leg went numb, but when the next blast knocked a hole in the wall a little ways in front of him, Josh guessed that tripping had saved his life.

For a few more seconds.

The pan on the next table was filled with crystals, just like the other eleven pans.

Too bad none of these had drugs in them.

When the shooter kicked the door open and peeked inside, Josh was hobbling towards the exit. The guy laughed and Josh heard the shotgun click as his attacker pumped it.

Josh grabbed the pan and turned back to face the door. He held it up in front of him like a shield, praying that the crystals wouldn’t be mistaken for drugs.

The man took aim, and Josh tried to smile as he thought about taking the building with him.

Back in the saddle

Meaning that this story isn’t sad.

L. E. White

A Night to Forget

Kaitlin sat cross legged on the bed. She had her head down so that her chin was on her chest. Long blonde hair hung down to brush against her bare thighs. Every few seconds, and tear would fall from her nose to land on her crossed ankles.

“You know he isn’t worth crying over,” Charity said. She was sitting on Kaitlin’s pillows, leaning back against the wall. “He is a prick and he treated you like shit. You are better off without him.”

“Then why does it hurt so much?”

“Because you really liked him.”

“How could he just dump me like this? After all we’ve been through and all I’ve done for him.”

“Again, that would be because he’s a prick.”

“Aren’t you supposed to say something to make me feel better?”

“Yeah,” Charity said. “And I did that a while ago. Now we have moved on to the waiting on you to get over it enough to go out and get all the way over him part.”

Kaitlin lifted her chin enough to lock red rimmed eyes on her cousin. “I don’t think that is going to help.”

“You won’t know until you try,” Charity said. “Besides, you can’t say you have ever felt worse after going out.”

***

Kaitlin blinked, snarling at the bright light which made her feel like tiny knives were being shoved into her eyes. She shifted, feeling knots in her back. It felt like she was lying on the floor, but she couldn’t remember.

Her head was thumping, and she remembered Charity saying something about never feeling worse after going out.

“Yeah right,” she mumbled, fighting to sit up without falling back over.

She turned her face away from the light and took a long time to open her eyes. Her skin was sticky and she could taste vomit in her mouth.

Her stomach clenched, and Kaitlin fought to keep from vomiting. She won the fight, but she didn’t know how long she would be able to keep doing it.

She focused on the floor, and wondered what the sticky red syrup was. She whispered, “Oh God,” when she realized that she was naked. She was covered in red, and wondered what sick pervert she had hooked up with the night before. Having drunken sex with a stranger was bad, but having drunken sex while covered in strawberry syrup had to be worse.

She looked around more, and started to hyperventilate when she saw the foot that was lying on the floor beside her.

She realized that it wasn’t her foot and that she wasn’t covered in strawberry syrup at about the same time. Then, she started screaming.

ugghhh

Ugghhh is really the only word I can come up with. Sometimes, the story just comes out sad.

|: – (

L. E. White

Tears

It felt like my cheeks were going to burn. The heat of the tears as they slid over my skin burnt, even if they wouldn’t leave a mark. I never knew if it was because they were warmer than the air or if it was from the salt in them. I would never know, because I didn’t care enough to look it up. They burned when they came out and I hated them.

Of course, they were my own fault. I know that to sit and stare at old pictures brings up memories. I had been hoping that I would have happy memories, but as usual, my mind went somewhere dark and painful. I wish I had more control of it, but I just couldn’t muster up enough energy to fight the flow. After a while, you just can’t keep fighting.

Some people say you choose to be happy or not. I say the only people who can do that are the ones who have managed to avoid the deepest pain. There comes a point where you are so far down in the hole that the light won’t really stand out from the darkness anymore. I also think that the only people who go that deep are the ones holding their own shovels.

The picture was a happy one. It showed me my children, who are all gone and their children have children of their own. It showed me a time before they started doing things I didn’t agree with. It showed me a time from so long ago that I still grounded them.

That picture had her in it.

She was smiling, the same way she had before she had gotten sick. Her eyes were bright, sparkling with love and mischief and a little bit of chaos that bordered on evil.

I loved her.

Once, on a hot summer day long before the pain had come, I had told friends that I would do anything for her. It had been true and years later, that was exactly what I had done.

Anything.

Everything.

In the end, it had all been nothing. I made deals, committed sins and performed dark acts, all for her. I was so desperate to get our happiness back that I let them lie to me. I had to try. I would create my own happiness. I decided that I would choose rather than letting things be decided for me.

I tried.

I failed.

The tears burn, but they won’t leave a mark. They won’t leave any scars on the outside. The scars that crying leaves behind are all on the inside. They rip open with every new tear.

Post Lexington Comic and Toy Convention (#LCTC2015) and D.O.M.R.A.D. #6

I have to say I had a blast at the Lexington Comic and Toy Convention this year. We both went down to work the weekend and it was fantastic. My wife got to assist Jim Cummings and she loved it. She has worked with Jim before, and was excited when she found out she would be working with him again. Considering that I know they were drinking together, I have to say I am a little jealous.

I started the weekend helping Deep Roy, but ended up being a general runner and helping everyone. While it felt like I ended up hiking at least a dozen miles over Saturday and Sunday, it meant that I was able to meet more people and hear more stories. I couldn’t have asked for a better experience. I just need to remember to wear track shoes rather than my work boots next year.

Below today’s story are the photos I had the chance to take. There are a few displays, but most of them are of various cos-players who were kind enough to pose. Thank you to every one of you.

My personal favorite in terms of ‘Gee Wiz’ factor is the steam punk ghostbuster. The picture is a little blurry and that is my fault, but I didn’t see him again to get a better picture. I’m hoping to see him again next year and fix that.

I hope you enjoy the continuation of the D.O.M.R.A.D. serial. I am having a lot of fun with the world building. Let me know if you have any ideas or questions from this. Since it is all pre-writing for a future, large piece, I would love to hear what you think.

L. E. White

Department of Magical Research and Development

#6

Walter looked around the room at pictures of Joey shaking hands with soldiers and people in suits. He went along without a word until he stood in front of Walter’s diploma. “You have a doctorate in physics?”

“Yeah,” Joey said as he sat down behind his desk. “I decided to get a conventional education after I finished my degree here.”

“Degree here?”

Joey nodded and indicated the chair across from his desk. Walter sat and looked at the chess board that dominated most of it. “When you come here out of high school, everyone you know will be told you are attending Benjamin Franklin University. If you Google it, you will see that we are a fully accredited school that offers a wide curriculum. We do not have any athletics programs though all students are required to take a few physical education credits.”

“So what programs are there?”

“There is really only one,” Joey said. “You come here to study magic. While we will test to find your particular talents, it isn’t a subject where you get to pick a major.”

Walter made a face and looked down. “So it isn’t a real degree then.”

“Not like you are thinking of one, no.” Joey cracked open a bottle of water and took a big drink. He offered Walter a bottle and he took it, although he didn’t open it right away.

“Walter, we are here to study magic in a scientific way. We do a lot of work and research to help protect our country and to help protect our world. This school offers a degree so that your family and friends will buy what is going on.”

“Then I think we are done here,” Walter said. “I’m not interested in some bullshit degree from a made up school.”

Joey shook his head. “It isn’t quite like that.”

“Then how is it?”

“You get a degree in magic from here, and it is listed as a complicated, hard to define degree that doesn’t use the word magic. You still have all sorts of general education, but your focus will be on magic. Once you are a contributing member of the department, you can take any class you want at any university in the country.”

Walter sat forward.”Any?”

Joey smiled and nodded. “Any. You must continue your magical research though. As long as you are working and you attend the mandatory monthly meetings here, you can go to any college, for any degree, for free.”

Walter swallowed hard.

“That’s why I agreed to do this in the first place,” Joey said. “It is also why we were partnered up. We have a lot in common.”

Walter licked his lips.

“You can’t make a decision without more info though.” Joey hefted himself out of the chair and motioned for Walter to follow. “Let me show you what I’ve been working on.”

Joey put on a heavy pair of gloves and carefully opened a small metal box on his workbench. He lifted out one of a dozen tiny blocks of wood and put it on a scorched steel plate. “This is my most recent project.”

“It looks like a piece of wood.”

“It is.”

Walter looked at him and grinned. “I ain’t making no wise ass comment.”

“Alright,” Joey said. “You know how wood doesn’t burn, but the wood gas does right?”

Walter nodded.

“Well, I am developing a spell that will release all of the wood gas in a burst. Making any block of wood into a firebomb.”

“Why? They already invented grenades.”

“True, but magical fire is needed to summon spirits. By enchanting the wood, I make the fire magical. Then we can use it to create something else.”

Joey picked up the block, whispered a word to it, and sat it back down on the plate.

The door rattled when the block exploded.

AWESOME PICTURES!