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Death of a Muse

Detective Hawk reached a gloved hand to the light switch. In the moment before the room was bathed in light, she braced herself for a scene of unknowable atrocity. It was not difficult to kill a muse, they are quite delicate, but at times the results can be quite macabre.

click

She squinted. Stark reality was hard on the pupils. A lithe figure, white feathered wings drooping from two graceful shoulders used to bearing the weight of the world curled around a body stooped limply yet stiffly across the top of a writing desk. Ink cascaded down a single white page and puddled on the floor thickly. A pale head, thankfully turned away from the Detective, rested on the ink stained page. Her feather quill had fallen to the floor. Elegant legs were still tucked under the desk.

She could have been asleep.

Unfortunately, the Detective had no choice but to walk over and stare into the vacant, open eyes of crystal blue.

“What happened to you, goddess?” she breathed in awe.

She began to search for clues.

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Taken

Taken. That’s what I should have been named. I was everyone’s alibi and no one’s friend. I was used, abused, and thrown out like an empty milk carton. My face was the picture on the side, black and white and fake smiling.

I slid to the floor, my back against the peeling wallpaper, breathing in the dust and mildew. This was the last place I had felt safe. Three years ago my Grandmother had been hospitalized and my childhood ripped from me. Foster? It meant beaten, starvation, fear, guilt, anger.

I had not found myself at the bottom of the pill canister. I wasn’t at the bottom of the bottle, nor in the sheets of a strange man who called me Susie Q. I wasn’t in the songs in my ipod, nor the student in the corner asleep in class. I searched far and wide.

Perhaps I was left here, in the flowered wallpaper, claw footed furniture, lace doilies, and knitted afghan draped over the couch.

But those things were gone. Taken. The carpet was dotted with dusty shapes, well worn paths between. Deserted. Condemned.

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Dark Fiction

“They chose a perfect night. The moon was new and practically non-existent as 7 boys sat noisily around the fire, a beacon in the forest to all hunters that food was there, plump, juicy and night-blind. One was speaking and his guttural enunciations wove a spell over the boys. Their eyes got wide, their bodies stilled, and the tiny snapping of twigs made them jump. Their language was full of varying pitches and hisses and the perfect mask for my approach.

I had to slink low to the ground like a snake and walk with even pressure on all four of my limbs to spread out my weight, but I got close enough to smell their fear and feel the heat from their bodies.

I smelled something else too, competition. It was a female. She was young and inexperienced, making far too much brush move over her. An owl hooted a warning and flew off, startling my prey. She froze. She had no idea I was stalking on the other side of the circle. Should I let her flush them to me, or pounce on the fattest to ensure my take?”

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Time Machine

After months of walking, surviving, fighting off beasts, eating only things I saw other creatures eating, and building a hut and a fire, I have given up hope that humankind survived.

Putting together a rough signal transmitter from the parts in my time machine, I wait here, the latitude and longitude beeping out endlessly into the sky above. I wrote a message with rocks ten feet wide on the top of a plateau. I am building myself a wall.

I could travel farther, keep looking for clues, but it seems this land of forest and wild things has recovered from some terrible shock. The trees here are too young, the vegetation fast growing, I assume it has only been the last 50 years that this area has bloomed.

What did we do to the Earth?

I began to dig just last week. I was looking for trash they said would never decay. I found a layer of dark rock, the kind made by intense heat and quick cooling. I can’t get past that without advanced tools.

I am sure my ancient race lies below it.

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Storm of Despondency

I sat in the sand, alone. My hair lashed out behind, whipped in the fierce wind that drove the dark, heavy clouds in and the tourists away. Squinting my eyes that were already scratchy from the drying tears upon my cheeks, I hardly noticed the stinging sand upon my skin.

Hollow, that’s how my stomach felt, perfectly matched with the sensation in my chest. There was nothing I could do to make things any better.

The storm and I needed to commune; we were one. It was restless and full of all the terrible things in the world, like my soul.

The only thing as deep as my pain, the choppy sea itself, seemed to call to me; the tide promising a swift descent out and down. The salt water would cleanse the wounds, even the deepest gashes in my heart. Perhaps I would see Atlantis before the pulses ceased in my brain.

Flashing orange lights, beach patrol, _great_. They yelled, wanting me to seek shelter. I smirked. Go? I had nowhere to go.

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Rust Red

The bicycle lay on its side, rust showing through red. It had seen rough usage in its lifetime, but nothing like this. From the mud caked on the fender to the tires bare of any tread in the middle, none of it spoke the real story.

Laying on its side, the handlebars, one pedal, and seat propping it up; a tripod of abandonment, the bicycle’s rear wheel defiantly balanced diagonally in the air; slowly spinning. The bent rim threw off the wheel’s inertia. Gravity pulled the bend down, but the broken frame wobbled and brought the bend spinning back around. Endlessly cycling, the ghost of a good long ride wailed a long metallic screech forlornly to the breeze.

It couldn’t be ridden anymore, and was left in the grass, forgotten. The end had drawn the curtain on the bicycle’s usefulness and value as a mode of transportation. The sky turned a shade of rust, paying tribute to the fallen simple machine, before darkness cloaked it in a memory.

Lights and sirens long gone, the haunting squeal spoke to no one.

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Tortured Soul

Shattered soul shards melt into a dark primordial ooze, from whence they first came, slowly sliding together like mercury to seek life anew.

A pathetic, desolate body the consistency of boiled pasta winces as the soul begins to fill the space inside. It is not a pleasant experience for either of them.

The body is whole, but the brain malfunctions, refusing to let the soul complete the attachment properly. The brain screams at the soul, battling with it, trying to kill the body to get rid of the parasite, but the soul has enough of a grip to thwart the attempts for years. Therapists, drugs, nothing developed by or related to the human brain could ever touch the soul’s communion with the body.

Finally the body simply has no energy left to continue on. The soul begins to let go of the tortured body, seeking a host it is better suited for. The husk of its host turns back into dust, and the eternal soul enters a new home, creating a new Being.

It hopes this one is compatible.

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I Am Tinkerbell

I dialed the phone.

“Hello?” his slightly sleepy voice inquired.

“Hey,” I simply replied.

“Who is this?”

“It’s your god-wife, you know, the nagging angel that sits on your shoulder that you ignore.”

“Oh, hi. It’s like 7:30 AM, what are you calling this early for?”

“I just sat down to watch Peter Pan with my kids, and I realized something.”

“Oh Peter Pan, I loved that movie as a kid! I saw it in the theater, though I had my friend sneak me in and we charmed some popcorn out of the pretty popcorn girl.”

“Yeah, you are Peter Pan.”

“What? Oh I think you’ve said this before, but I didn’t get it.”

“So many jealous girls vying for his attention because he is charismatic and youthful and vibrant.”

“Aww, stop it, I’m blushing!”

“I am Tinkerbell. Though we might save each other’s lives many times, and though you may call me your best friend, there’s always a Wendy or Squaw girl you’re after that I can’t compete with.”

“But they leave Peter. He can only trust Tink.”

“Is that enough?”

“Trust is everything.”

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Found It

“We shouldn’t be poking around in here! It’s a brain, Walter.” I complain as I step over another pile of discarded memories.

“I found it!” he exclaims from some far off corner.

“Found what?” I shake something like a spider web from my arm.

“The key!” I hear him getting closer, jogging past me with a silly grin on his face.

“The key to what?”

“The key to everything!” he calls over his shoulder, now hidden behind a wall of boxes.

“What are you talking about?! There is no key to everything.” I pick my way over to him.

“Help me!” He commands, clearly struggling with something near the floor.

“Help you what?”

“Turn it!”

“This isn’t going to work, you can’t turn on a person like a wind up toy, you c….. Oh.” The ‘key’ did turn. All above us lightning flashed and echoed, making the hair on my body stand up all at once.

Squinting in the new purple glow, I made out Walter’s face, mouth open in complete awe. Soon, the strewn boxes and items began sorting themselves out, as if magnetically attracted to order

(I have been watching too much “Fringe“)

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Crazy Jimmy’s Friend

My legs burned, my side ached, my mouth was dry and still they chased me.

“You’ll only make it worse,” my mother had chided, “if you run.” I should have listened to her, but here I was, making it worse.

The cemetery was up ahead, I bolted through the open archway and vaulted three headstones. My old track coach would have been proud to see that I still had it. My goal was not only to outrun, however, it was to outfox. My destination was the forest behind the cemetery. Once I got inside, they couldn’t find me.

Sirens blared as backup arrived. Fresh runners and K-9s wouldn’t be good enough to catch me. In the forest I had a hideout. Jimmy and I carved out this niche, a burrow really, and stocked it with MREs for just such occasions. Actually, Jimmy thought it was for WWIII, but he was crazy.

I fell into the cavern, taking care to block myself in and spray it with the deer scent Jimmy had bought. I’d wait here while they did an investigation, then they’d learn it wasn’t my fault.

She deserved it.

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