A Note on the Update Schedule

After consideration, I’ve decided to go to a bi-weekly updating format.  Writing for this website takes a massive amount of attention away from my novel in progress between coming up with new ideas, writing, and editing.  The Ephemeral Landing is something that I need to finish and have ready to read in the next four months if possible.  To be perfectly frank, I feel like I’m racing against time as far as getting that novel finished is concerned.   I should also note that sometimes I won’t be updating due to personal reasons over the next four to six months.  After that time I may return to my regular once a week posting schedule, but it will completely depend on my grandmother’s health and where I feel emotionally.

Thank you to those who do read, whomever you are.

Ten of Swords

It hadn’t been enough that he had pushed and pushed for months; he had to bring his friends to her as well. That first time had been months ago, and had returned once again. Their voices, raspy like an entire den of snakes moving together, echoed on the edge of the property. Nicole’s only choice was the woods. She could hide and never be found. Creeping and insidious, she could hear them growing closer, taste the memory of their foul breath. She took off running. Slow at first, she dodged through the trees until she couldn’t hear them anymore. The spiny branches hung low here, lacerating her as she sped by. Small sharp stones stabbed into the soft skin of her bare feet. By this point she was far enough away that she could stop running, but she didn’t want to. The pain was invigorating. If she stopped the feelings of helplessness the memories would all catch up to her–Nicole just keep running. Refusing to stop for anything, she threw off her clothes as she ran. She was leaving herself behind a piece at a time. The deeper into the forest she went the thicker and sharper the spines became, ripping larger chunks of flesh as she sped by them. Her body burned, but she didn’t dare stop. Agony was a song in the squelch of matter dropping to the forest floor. Wet bone glimmered in the patches of sunlight, her vision almost obscured by the flow of blood. She didn’t care. She kept moving.

At last she grew dizzy and collapsed, blood covering her head to foot. She had no idea where she was and knew there was no way she could pick herself back up to go home. Through a ripped cheek Nicole’s ghastly smile radiated. This was joy. This was freedom.

(picture by Jonathanscarecrow at deviantart.com)

Two of Cups

17:08, Day 215. Trial 5 was unsuccessful. Both subjects are at 95% health. Still awaiting orders from Dr. Linssen.

I turned the telepad off and settled into my chair. Being on my sixth shift in a row the room had begun to look sterile and oddly alien. Even though I had intimate knowledge of the placement of each cable, the information that was being collected, the creak of the chair when I leaned back, even our subjects I still almost didn’t recognize the room. Honestly, I didn’t like to think about the subjects or acknowledge them. It made my stomach twinge. Dr. Linssen had taken it as a sign our experiment was going to be successful, and I was beginning to agree. After all, no one had felt regret in more than fifty years.
Our work had been nicknamed the Romeo and Juliet Project after a play that had been written thousands of years ago that was full of emotion, especially love. Love. That was a word that felt strange on the tongue. It wasn’t something many of us thought about anymore. After the meteors, when so many people died and our emotions slowly disappeared, love was the last to go. The fade was gradual. It was amazing the things we lost when love was gone. There were no more books, movies, music. People drifted. The birth rate remained steady, but conception had become a duty rather than a pleasure. The species continued, but those who could remember wondered if there was even a point.
By the time we’d found our subjects the rest of the planet had been void of emotion for a generation. The male subject’s grandmother had turned them in. She recognized the look of first love in their eyes and had called the police. Dr. Linssen and entire team of special ops swooped in and collected them. It was over in five minutes. The female subject cried, further solidifying that these two children were holding the secret to returning emotion to the population.
“How are their vital signs this morning?” Dr. Linssen tapped on the glass of the tanks, waking me up from my introspection. I hadn’t heard himcome in. “Any signs of a change?”
I shook my head. “None yet, sir. Everything looks normal.”
“Come here. I need you to aid me with the next trial.”
“So soon? We just finished trial 5 yesterday, sir.” The subjects watched his every move from within the tank. Suspended in water, naked, relying on oxygen masks, it was almost as though they weren’t really human. I looked away
“Yes. I am aware. Stand next to the male subject, if you would.” Complying, I began to wonder what Dr. Linssen would to do differently. Usually when performing a trial there was a full team of scientists around to make sure nothing went wrong. It was not my place to question.
Once again Dr. Linssen tapped on the glass tubes that housed both subjects, making sure he had their complete attention. “Sir, I can tell that you don’t want be in that tube, but you won’t produce. While you’ve been resting, I was reading up on what people used to feel, and came to realize that if I attack what you love then maybe you will give me what I need.” Dr. Linssen patted the machine that kept the subjects healthy and vital. “Let me be clear. I am going to cut off her oxygen and you’re going to produce. If I get results, I’ll restore her oxygen. Do you understand me?”
The male subject didn’t move, but he kept his eyes on the female subject. For a moment they stared at one another, as if communicating silently. Dr. Linssen moved a couple of dials and it wasn’t long before the female subject was thrashing within her tube. The male subject beat at the plastic enclosure, almost breaking it. Motors whirled, alarms whaled, and just as the female subject began to pass out we heard the telltale dripping sound of success. Dr. Linnsen immediately cranked her oxygen dial back up to normal levels and rushed to the output machine. His monotone voice echoed off of the walls, “Good job, subjects. We have success.”
The small receiving bottle held a modicum of oily looking liquid, but the results were undeniable. The machine had worked. We had output. Dr. Linssen put a tiny drop on his finger before returning the vial to its place. “I will be the first test subject. #14, be sure to record the results no matter what happens to me.”
He touched to drop to his tongue and immediately began to seize. I found myself dropping to steady him as best as I was able rather than getting help as I had been trained. I searched for a pulse. His heartbeat was erratic, but strong. Suddenly, he opened his eyes.
“So many sensations are rushing through my body! It’s glorious! I will make millions, #14!” Dr. Linssen struggled to his feet, looking at my body and appraising each inch before putting a droplet on his finger, “You will share in this gift. Everyone else will have to pay dearly for the privilege. This is your reward for your hard work and dedication to the project.” Something about his eyes looked wrong, but before I could react he had shoved his fingertip into my mouth.
The world was awash in color and pain. I couldn’t tell what was up and what was down. As I came back to myself, Dr. Linssen was pulling off my clothing. My pulse increased. I tried to struggle away. Fear. I didn’t like how this felt. He was stronger than I was. There was no love in Dr. Linssen; I don’t think it could find its way through the anger, greed, and lust.
The subjects merely watched. If this was the price to pay for emotion, it was too high. I couldn’t help but wonder, “What have we done?”

(photo from karacol at www.deviantart.com)

I am Horribly Neglectful

There will be no update this week.  Again.  Between getting a horrible cold and the wedding of two of my really good friends (which I’m in) I haven’t had time to write, and I wouldn’t have time to update this weekend.

I promise that there will be something this coming week.  Two shorts from the tarot collection if I can manage it.

Thanks for your patience.

Update

There will not be a fiction update this weekend as I will be travelling all over New England until Sunday night.

Have a great week!

Cheetah

There is a superstition in Guatamala that upon dying the soul doesn’t immediately leave. It stays for forty days before it decides to move on. Forty days ago to the day my fiance’s grandfather passed away suddenly. Today his sweet sixteen year old cat decided to go with him. I believe Cheetah just wanted to make sure he wasn’t alone. More than that, Cheetah picked his time to go and left with dignity.

He will be terribly missed. There will be no short story this weekend. I think Cheetah’s long life is story enough.

(Photo by Spectrolite at www.deviantart.com)

Five of Pentacles

An Update of Sorts

I promise I’m still among the living.  This has just been a busy time for me.  This is the first time that I’ve had a chance to really sit down and think about where I want to go with the website, as well as what I want to do with my career.  Writing, as always, is at the forefront of my mind.  It’s the ultimate.  I would do many things to make that happen as a career.  I’ve felt this push stronger than ever the last couple of days, and yet I haven’t been able to write a thing.  Last night was spent staring at an empty screen for an hour, followed by one sentence and another hour. 

Perhaps it’s my location.  I haven’t taken the fiance’s laptop out of the house yet.  It’s been too hot in the afternoons to think of going and sitting in the park.  Ultimately, this is an excuse.  I am overly fond of excuses, it seems.  Tonight I will try sitting in the patio.  We bought a bird feeder.  The fiance restrung our Christmas lights and attached them to a light switch.  Houston at night is a beautiful thing, even in the heat.  It’s the one time of day where it feels like the sky could swallow you whole.  Maybe that is what I need to write Flux and Five of Pentacles.

I’ve been tossing around the idea of writing a series of shorts centered around and named for the tarot.  It’s an idea I’ve been entertaining since last week, when I wrote that explosion (I’ve decided I’m still not proud of it).  For years the tarot was a main part of my life, and while I have since retired my main deck, I still feel the pull of something sacred through it.

What does this mean for the website?  Since I plan on putting up something original every Saturday I think I will be publishing this series on here.  There are 78 cards in a deck.  That is 78 original stories.  I will be busy for a year and a half with this project.  I may not write updates on my writing as I have been, but then again I may.  My decision on that constantly wavers.

In essence, expect things to change around here.  Some stories may be frightening, others beautiful.  Expect them to be dark. 

I will see you on Saturday with the first installment: Five of Pentacles.

Divination

Hey everyone!  I know this post is early, but I’ve got a full couple of days in front of me so I figured I should post it earlier rather than later.  It’s not fiction exactly, but something that just came out.

            Shuffling the cards.  The sound is familiar.  They fit in my hand like an extension of myself.  I am beyond this place, somewhere else.  The only tie I have here is the flutter of the cards mixing.  Their voices echo.

            Will he love me?

            Does he miss me?

            Should I leave him or stay?

            Does he know I don’t love him anymore?

            Why can’t I stop going back?

            Their voices are different, but at the core they are the same woman.  She is insecure, hopeless, waiting, afraid, restless, you, and me.  They think I have answers to give them.  I can only feel sadness when I see the truth in the cards, but I know they won’t listen.  They never listen unless it’s exactly what they want to hear.

            No.  He loves another.

            He misses the idea of you.

            I can’t tell you that, and it wouldn’t matter anyway.  Your final outcome is stagnation.  Maybe the answer is outside of him.

            He notices more than you give him credit for.

            See here?  You two are connected, but the ties can be severed if you really want them to be.  This relationship is toxic.  All you have to do is let him go, but I see that you won’t.

            They hear with their ears, but not their hearts.  All I am supposed to be in an affirmation of what they think is true.  But the real truth is all over their faces.  They twitch, shake, worry.  I can read all of it from their bodies.  Phasing out, I hear the voice of god.  It’s sad that you refuse it.  You’ve already decided what the say long before you sat at my table.  Stagnation again.

            Next person?

(Image from NinfeAde at www.deviantart.com)

Construction

Hey everyone!  Please don’t mind the mess.  I’m redoing the website a bit to make the AW blogroll work, and to make everything a bit more user friendly.

Expect changes in the next few days.