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Conflagration?
As some amount of time evidently passed, The Erstwhile Mr. Lundegaurd grew familiar (as familiar as an amnesia prone unwitting ghost can be) with his new environs. Those environs spanned several acres of oddly shaped hallways, break rooms, lavatories (he spent most of his time in there, trying to coax secrets from the fixtures. Fixtures in these ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
Spent most of my life mildewing in the corner of the twinkle of my father's eye. After that, things progressed in a straight forward fashion: pupal, larval, cocoon, destroy the world's conception of beauty... the normal stuff. Right now I'm focusing alternately on harvesting old style biological bug milk for sale and profit and surreptitiously ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
Walking the train tracks is tedious. The ties are not ever placed in an even walking stride, you have to half step or jump, it takes concentration best used for other, more interesting things. He thought that maybe the slaves so many years ago placed the ties for maximum discomfort of the ruling class who may one day be walking along them... a ( Read more... ) -
Closer The Ghost
The Erstwhile Mr. Lundegard wandered hither and thither around the parking lot he'd landed in for a long time... he tried talking to lamp posts and trash cans, haunting broken down cars and hitting on secretaries as they dug through over-full purses for keys, cursing to themselves for having too much crap in their bags. All of his attempts ended ( Read more... ) -
The Train has Stopped
Rumors fluttered rapidly down the length of the train and back again in reflected sine waves as imaginations wrapped around the problem now being faced. The train is stopped -- this was the only known value. Variables were all that remained: what or who had stopped it? why? where was the train? Was it a broken dynamo worn out but uninspected ( Read more... ) -
Timothy Discovers the Bad News
Timothy stared at his office again. Nothing was amiss but something was wrong... different. He scanned again, the acrylic painting of a lesser Eastern sub-noble with what was supposed to be a mysterious smile. The frame centered perfectly between his designer Etherwyg file cabinet and Elk-bone desk. The oval rug was just a few inches off center ( Read more... ) -
Against the Hour
Godfrey didn't like distractions. An undirected, or rather, omni-directional, sense of urgency had served as a Notus to his Argo, guiding him toward countless hazards to be bested -- villains to be vanquished while honing his skills in preparation for the ultimate battle. His mother called it neurosis and his pediatrician warned, frowning, that ( Read more... ) -
The erstwhile Mr. Lundegard: a work in progress
The erstwhile Mr. Lundegard had pictured his death in a very particular way since the age of 13 and 2/5ths (prior to that age his predictive death had come at the hands of robots, rabid yankee marauding carpetbaggers or a particularly vicious beating administered by his father (which at the point of The erstwhile Mr. Lundegard's death, his father ( Read more... ) -
Contortionist: work in progress
The Contortionist ( Read more... ) -
Bugmilk
bugs again. Real ones. Biological. Not the .m.pi.bsorry, dvorak hotkey shenanigans emergency replacement ones made to recalibrate the ecosystem. There must have been a trove of them in the crevices between my floorboards. Knew I shouldn't have cleaned so thoroughly, all it does is dislodge the safety grit that holds the bad things in. But no ( Read more... )