Tag: fiction

Friday’s Theme Music

Dark day in the house despite the sun’s arrival at its appointed time of 7:40 AM. He’d been a little slow warming up for his shift. Most people didn’t know that inside the sun were maintainers on shifts ensuring the light and heat was properly maintained. The sun preferred that no one ever found out. They might start looking if the heat and shine start sputtering. Of course, there was one being called, “Sun”. Parry had never met him; his predecessor, a woman hired him. Maybe ‘the sun’ was another myth. Who knows the truth? The truth was, he was still a little hammered. Had gone out with a few from other shifts yesterday. Made a night of it, ha, ha. That was their favorite joke.

He’d had reason for going out and drinking. This was his anniversary. January 7, 2022. (Right? Wasn’t it? They’d argued the date for some time the previous night.) Been on the job for four hundred years. Enough for a pay bump. Six hundred more until retirement. He’d already begun planning that. Had picked out a star and was saving for a place. Was tired of living in the solar system. He’d spent his whole life there. Born on Pluto, then moved to Mercury. Followed Mum into solar management. Got a job locally. But, he would travel, go to other stars, after he retired. Maybe marry. If he met the right one. Only place he’d really been besides Pluto, Mercury, and the Sun, was the dark side of the moon. Was everything they’d said it would be. Yes, he had been on a few comets. But come on, who had not?

The sun was on course. Would set over Ashland at 4:55 PM. His shift ended a little later. He poured a cup of coffee and peeked into the little region of his responsibility. Chilly day down there. 43. Cloudy. Rainy. Would only reach 45. Not really bad for a winter day, as he understood all that, which was, not much. Weather was another’s purview. He was all about the shine.

With everything settled down, he turned on some music, shifting through dials until a tune he liked was struck, and began playing computer solitaire and wishing for new games. Like the sun couldn’t afford it.

###

That just popped up, so I went with it. That out of the way, today’s theme music is by Jet, a 2003 song called “Are You Gonna Be My Girl”. Of course, I was singing it to a cat last night. A ginger boy. So, it was, are you gonna be my cat? He stared at me, like, what? The song stayed in the morning mental music stream. So, here we are.

Stay positive. Test negative. Wear a mask as needed. Get the jabs when you can. Coffee time for me. Cheers

4

Marie’s House

She couldn’t recall a point in her life when she didn’t fear spiders, even though Mother always said, “Don’t worry, they’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”

Doubtful. She studied them, trying to ascertain whether that could possibly be true. Her intensity to verify or disprove her mother’s claim carried her into college. But it was while she was at home, on the toilet, that the incident took place.

Thoughts were busying her head that day. October always meant birthdays and celebrations, until now. Mother’s death changed that. She’d always known Mother would die. Had to be done as matter of senescence and statistics. She understood both well. But Mother was struck by a stranger with an umbrella, propelling her back down the steps she’d been climbing, and into the storm surge where hungry waves gobbled her up and passed her wave by wave deeper into the ocean. Her body wasn’t recovered for three months. She wasn’t Mother by then. More time was needed for her to transform in Marie’s head from presence to memory.

Which had nothing to do with the spider incident, except that she was distracted by grief’s weight. Mother’s house had become her house. Whether she wanted to remain in that house was the question. Something never considered before seemed almost certain. That surprised her. She’d always believed that she would leave Mother’s house. She had begun to think that it would be with a man, when she married. Then, perhaps with a woman, when she married. Or maybe, when she traveled the world, because she didn’t think she was going to ever marry.

But along came an American house spider. Comb-footed, yellowish brown with a dirty white abdomen. About a quarter inch in size. Large for the species and lighter in color so it was probably female. Common and nothing to be feared, on an intellectual level. It could have a painful bite. But, Marie still sometimes reacted to spiders on other levels when they surprised her. As this one did, landing on the back of her hand as she sat on her bum on the commode, crying about Mother and October.

Feeling it, she flinched. Seeing it, she screamed. Tried flicking the spider away. It rushed up her pale, almost hairless arm. By that point, four seconds had passed and calm was beginning to restore order to Marie’s intellect. But then the spider stopped. She bent to look at it more closely. It raised two legs at her. Like it was waving hello. Later, she wondered, was it actually casting a spell? Because it then disappeared into her skin.

That seemed wholly impossible and improbable, so Marie took forty-seven seconds looking for it, horrified that maybe it had fallen off her arm and into her crotch. She stood to finish her business, wipe her bottom, and flush the toilet, but she swayed. Light blue towels were on a rack to the toilet’s right. She lunged for that general area, missed and fell forward. When next she woke, she knew she was a spider. Not spider-girl, a human with spider-like capabilities. No, she was a human intelligence in a spider body in the corner of the bathroom that used to be Mother’s house, which was now hers.

0

With A Bullet

He watched the lights. Knew the sequence. What to do. Checked his watch. Been in line forty-five minutes. Sweat sheathed his back. Not from heat.

The woman ahead seemed confused. WTF. How? R-O-Y-G-B. Someone was talking to her from a monitor that he couldn’t see. She was laughing at herself. Hoarse sound. Like she’d been smoking. An odd thought for someone her age, in a lilac and white dress with dark purple shoes and matching glasses and hand bag. Where was she going.

She went on. The light was red. He fixed on it. Glad his wife wasn’t here. And sorry. She would like this. And hate it.

The light turned green. He stepped in. Fixed on the new set of lights to his right. R-O-Y-G-B. Stereo female voice said, “Look into the blue screen ahead of you, please.:

That screen was ten by ten inches, he guessed.

“Find the black light and focus.”

Damn. He’d forgotten that. How could he see the other lights if he was staring at the black dot in the blue screen. Found it immediately — did he get a reward? Focused. A soft click was heard. Gentle whirring followed.

“Welcome, Gerrard. Please look to your left. You will see a series of light. All are now dark except the first one, labeled one.”

Well, they were making this unnecessarily cumbersome. Did that voice have an English accent?

“When light number two turns orange, please put your right arm in the black cuff to your left. You will hold it there as lights three and four turn yellow and green. During that time, you may feel a small jab in your right hand. Do not worry. This is normal. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Might be a British accent. There a difference between English and British accents?

“Keep your arm in the cuff until light number five has turned blue. Do you understand?”

He felt like giggling. Shivered. Cold in this booth. “Yes.”

A chime sounded. The second light turned orange. The voice said, “Please insert your arm into the cuff now.”

Gerrard did. Sweat dribbled down his neck. Why? Wasn’t hot. The cuff closed on his arm. He couldn’t pull it out if he tried. Kind of wanted to try.

Light number three went yellow. Something jabbed his index finger hard. He flinched.

“Please do not move,” the voice said.

Embarrassment washed him. Hadn’t meant to move. He was surprised. That’s all. Harder jab than he expected.

Green light number for came on. Another chime. Same as the first. A blue light came on. “You may remove your arm.”

As he was pulling it out, flexing his fingers and looking for damages, the voice continued, “When the overhead door light turns green, you may exit the booth. Your gate is twenty-seven bee.”

As he looked at it, the booth light turned green and the voice intoned, “Follow the instructions to your gate. Thank you for Traveling with America First.”

“You’re welcome,” he muttered. Ahead was a sign. “Gerrard Miles, please turn left and follow the green line to gate twenty-seven b.” The green arrow pointed straight.

It was dark. Low lights. Cool. Like he was underground. Or in a movie theater. One of those huge complexes with big screens and small rooms. He followed as necessary, losing tracks about how many turns were made. Things he’d read always said this was the offsetting part, getting to your gate. Most deemed this the worse feature.

Gate 27 B was in green to his right. Others were there. About twenty-five. Another sign said, “Pittsburgh.”

A male voice said, “Welcome to gate twenty-seven bee and travel to Pittsburgh. We are ready to board. Please proceed to the door on your left.”

They all queued. He felt weird about it. No seats? No zones? Others were guffawing about it. Nervousness flowed around them like flooding waters. Only one woman, blonde, in a white coat, seemed comfortable. Seemed a little superior in her attitude, too. She’d done this before.

The gate was open. No one was there. A male said, “Please step into the gate when the light turns green.”

This was it. They made it seem like it wasn’t. This was it, though. They all knew it. All were deadly quiet. The blonde woman went. Was gone. The light shuffled forward. Sweat was drenching Gerrard. Like he’d been in a moonson.

He shuffled with the rest. Tenth. Ninth. Et cetera. Then him. Licked his lips. Coped with dryness at the back of his throat. And a dry tongue. Watched the light. Stepped forward.

The ground moved, sucking him forward. He almost screamed but there wasn’t time. The same voice said, “Please step forward. Welcome to Pittsburgh. The local time is five thirty-four. It’s a pleasant seventy-eight degrees outside. You can claim your baggage at carrousel number seventeen. Thank you for traveling with America First. We hope you have a good visit, whether you’re in Pittsburgh for business or vacation.

He walked forward, blinking against dazzling sunshine, his sweat drying, the ordeal over, into the international airport, looking for directions to baggage claim. He’d been at home two hours before. Home in Medford, Oregon. Now he was in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He’d gone over twenty-five hundred miles almost instantaneously. Like a bullet.

Fucking technology. He didn’t understand it but it was amazing.

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑