Two Ficlets

Bigfoot is Evil

"Do you have to video everything?"
"Think Blair Witch, Karen!"
"Think: We're lost, and you're using a VHS camcorder. Why didn't you just lug along a slide projector?"
"We're both on edge but this video will make us Famous!"
"Dave, everyone knows there's no such thing as Bigfoot!"
"You saw the tracks!
"And I've seen people fake crop circles, Dave."
"Think outside the box, Karen. Has anyone told Bigfoot it didn't exist?"
"No, but this is a giant bear-person you are talking about. What if it was real?"
"Pardon?"
"Wouldn't it eat people?"
"That's just silly. Bigfoot would just be an animal, Karen. You can't expect me to believe Bigfoot is evil! Karen? Screaming won't get you out of carrying the equipment. Karen? This isn't funny, Kar ...."


Trapping the Bigfoot

"I don't believe it. The first Bigfoot captured, Henderson. They said it couldn't be done -- I even said it, but you captured it!"
"I just set a trap that can capture anyone."
"You must explain this to me. What kind of food can trap any creature? I've never heard of such a thing."
"Did you ever read comics?"
"Henderson?"
"See? I used this."
"You captured the Bigfoot with a Hostess Fruit Pie?"
"It worked, didn't it? Ah, waving it around might be unwise."
"Henderson, this is science! Your joke is not -- dear god, it broke the cage!"
"I told you not to wave Hostess at it! Throw the fruit pie or lose your hand!"
"She just ate it. Whole. Did you see those teeth?"
"She's choking! The wrapper. You never took off the wrapper!"
"She was coming right at me, Henderson. I didn't think. I didn't ... how do you Heimlich the Bigfoot? Christ, she's dying. You know what this means?"
"You murdered the greatest advance in cryptozoology ever?"
"No. Well, yes, but we can't tell anyone. Ever. They'd never believe about the Hostess Fruit Pies."

A quick ficlet

"So I have to eat them?"
"Yes, Johnny. Vegetables are good for you. And don't you roll your eyes at me! You have to eat them."
"I've been eating veggies at Bruce's. But we play with them first."
"We do not play with vegetables at the table!"
"Dear, if it gets him to finish supper ..."
"Fine. You may play with them, then eat -- oh my God! You do NOT do that with vegetables! Oh my God! Angels and ministers of -- you put your clothes back on right this minute!"
"Geeze. Sorry."
"What do you have to say for yourself young man?"
"Carrots are better when they're peeled. Duh."

Remember Ficlets

Remember Ficlets


The old man sat in the room, sunlight sliding in through cracks in the grimy window, and waited. There was cheering outside, joy and laughter; the sounds of children learning adult games of war, dominance - but hush, he told himself. It was never like that, when you were young. It was only a game, not a tool. Only a game.

He stood slowly, joints letting him know he was alive with the occasional twinge of too-familiar pain. The children had stopped coming, for lessons or for stories. Time had moved on; other heroes, other legends: some of them went out to make their own. He could see it in their eyes, remembered the hunger in his own.

"The price is having to be the best," he'd told them, desperate and sad and yearning. Nothing remains: you grow old, lose, try again. Then you are too old and there is nothing left but a pale mockery fighting the same old fight.

He turned on the lamp beside the bed, electric light filling the room, and stared at the ball in it, whispering: "I choose you," and remembering his youth.

Looking for sex in all the wrong places

The Warrior About Whom There Was No Prophecy strode into the city, seeking the Villain Who Must Be Named (because, otherwise, it was hard to find him.) They had been childhood friends, but death and blood had come between them and the Warrior knew he was under a terrible curse, but not its nature.

In time he found a woman, who was searching for her heart’s desire, but his quest went deeper than his heart, and the Warrior did not see his own True Love, but only information.

“I am looking for Sex. I have been my whole life,” he explained. “Sex was my childhood friend, but because of Sex my sister and my parents died in my arms and I … who are you looking at me funny? You’re calling the guard?!

YOU ’RE IN LEAGUE WITH SEX !”

And the Warrior drew his very ordinary and unnamed sword and slew her, screaming about Sex, and had to flee the guard, who seemed to be in league with the terrible villain as well, never once wondering upon the nature of his curse.

Somewhere, a magician named Bob was amused.

From a prompt

“Oh, my God! What have I/We done?”
       “We/I have done nothing. You/We have done everything.”
       “But, the fingerprints -- I -- no We/We are on the --”
       “You/We will be charged. You/We will pay for it.”
       “But You/I -- You/I wanted her dead. So We/I could be together.”
       “You/I have one body. Many I/We/You/Us, but one body. We cannot have sex.”
       “But You/We -- “
       “You/I. You/I acted.”
       “You/We -- I/You -- You/We lied to You/I?”
       “Who can You/I lie to, You/I, but You/We/I self?”
       “But I/We -- I/You ---”
       “Only I. One, to pay.”
       “But I/We exist!”
       “That does not, We/You, mean We/Us has to suffer with We/You.”
       “Fuck me.”
       “We/I cannot.”
       “But, her voice -- she kept thinking there was only I. I/We .... You/I was .. jealous?”
       “....”
       “I/We didn’t mean -- I/Me didn’t mean -- I/We are -- please, say something?”
       “.”
       “It is lonely, without We/I. She is staring at me. Us. Me. Staring. If she starts talking, We/You must listen! Must! I did it for You/Us! She was afraid of I/We, of noise! Please, not silence? I/We don’t want this. I --. I..”

Track Two

Across the quad he watched from shadows, hearing no enchantment in wind, catching fragments of song like static from a TV set. She was enchantment enough, that anyone would dance like that during the dark of night without reason. He made no sound, not wanting to break the spell.

There was a song inside him too (everyone has one, if they listen the right way), but to him the silences mattered more than the song, when it was just her moving, and the wind, and her singing without a voice as the song ran past him and away; it did not matter, to him the singer was more important. He held his silence, not daring to break the moment, feeling something ease inside his heart, or an old wound break open.

And he was too afraid, of her stillness and his silence, and did not ask her a name, nor tell her he watched, even when he returned the next few nights, in case she moved through stillness, or might have guessed his own song.

In a different story, he would have carried a knife.

This is not that story.

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A ficlet, a sequel to kayara's ficlet A song. Posted up here as well since I think it's the best ficlet I wrote.

Selling Souls

At least selling your soul to the Devil is pretty cut and dried. You were given a piece of paper, and then you signed it, often in blood, and someone notarized it and the Devil would leave and add it to His porn collection or something.

Selling your soul on ebay was something else altogether. It was one of those things that started out as a joke and—okay, okay, we were drunk at the time, but still it was mostly a joke that became not as funny once we were done.

Way we figured it, my soul would have us in cheap beer and pretzels for half a year.

The hard part was figuring out how to ship it, and the the S/H costs. We picked $3.33, because it felt right.

Bastard customer e-mailed us saying it had been damaged in transit a week later, and now it’s gone to the lawyers. The really funny thing is I don’t feel any different at all—it’s not like I was using my soul for anything, after all.

But I’m starting to consider the benefits of being a lawyer.