2100

The barbed wire kept them separated, animals in cages that could see and speak with each other, but that had no physical interactions. Too much had passed between them to sever their mental connection, and yet they fought against their bonds in an attempt to find a way out. Or a way in, whichever one accomplished their goals for them most expediently. It had been a long, hard year living in the camps, with the green and gold lights turning on and off in synchronous rhythm, and with the dogs howling nonstop until all hours of the night. And that’s when she came.

They were staring at the large clock on the main retention building at midnight, together, yet apart, as they often were at the dawning of a new day, the man and the boy. Illuminated by giant fog lamps, the building took on a ghastly yellow glow not unlike sickly skin. They weren’t staring because of the view, however. They stood in those exact two spots, facing East, every night because it was when the second moon traded places with the first and could be seen with the naked eye. Even though the retention building only offered a partial view of the moon juxtaposition, it was the best they could aspire to, and they treasured it as if it were iron.

The woman emerged from the shadows to the North, which is why they didn’t register her presence initially, when she stepped out of the shade into the full light of a glow much brighter than their world had known before or since. Continue reading “2100”

The Flood

They said there’d be rain, and lots of it. They said it would start early and not end for weeks. They said it would be the single largest rainfall we’d ever had. And I laughed. I mean, honestly, who predicts rain in the middle of the dry season except for some absolute lunatics? They even … Continue reading The Flood

Gunpoint Values

“Your money or your life?” the man before him sensibly asked while holding a gun and looking stoned. And Leon took a moment to contemplate his response. See, he had $5000 dollars on him that he had been taking to the bank to deposit. It was all the money he had in the world, and he didn’t know if he could face the life he would have to live if he handed it over. It seemed to him like the classic “six of one, half a dozen of another” scenario he had seen often on his favorite television programs.

“Can I just give you some of my money?” he asked, serious as a heart attack. “‘Cause I got bills and alimony, and I owe this bookie.” The man looked at him like Leon had just grown two extra heads, and he smirked. It was all so amusing to the man who was wearing patent leather shoes, Leon thought angrily. For a moment he didn’t even see the gun, he was so livid. Then he focused on the danger he was in once more and shivered.

“Your money or your life,” the thug with the nice footwear repeated, this time as a statement instead of a question. Continue reading “Gunpoint Values”

Painting Lines

“… but painting those lines, it was all he had ever known.”

His ancient eyes carefully surveyed the freshly painted thick white line as it shone brightly in the earliest morning hours. He sat on a large machine that made wide turns in a spectacular fashion and purred like a kitten, a quite incongruous sensation when seen and heard at the same time. But he had a job to do, one that he had done more times than even he could remember, which was also part of the reason why he studied that white line for so long. Reputation was a very important thing in his business, in any business really, but painting those lines, it was all he had ever known.

He remembered going out with his father on weekday mornings before tea time, when only the crows would be out, dancing on telephone wires and watching them with those spectacle eyes. His dad would open the large shed, that reminded him of a barn with its massive size, and back out the industrial-sized lawn mower. Ironically, what he recalled most about that behemoth was the name on its side, KAT. He wondered why they would have misspelled the word “cat” but he kept it to himself. The older man would sit him up on the top of the mower with his colossal hands until he could feel its vibrations. They made him have to pee, but he kept that to himself as well. Continue reading “Painting Lines”

The Haunting

The old playground is usually empty this time of day, especially after Old Man Farthing hung himself with an extension cord from the swing apparatus a year ago last Tuesday. They say his ghost still haunts the swings on occasion, the village gossips do, Verena Stone and Jill Swingholm. The two of them sit on … Continue reading The Haunting