These shorts are stories/excerpts that must follow a rule. Often, a specific word must be included. Writing must be 75 words or shorter. (though rules are meant to be broken)
TJ:
“Stop! Don’t move another goddamn inch! There’s no going back after this, Lettie. But right now, there’s still a chance. Fight it, baby. Fight it for me.” Don’s voice was equal parts fire and ice, and the stave shooter shook like mad in his hand.
No one in the crowd would believe for one second that he had it in him to shoot his wife, no matter how far gone she was. No one had the heart to rob him off his final plea, either. In that moment, I regained a bit of faith in the type of old-fashioned human decency that bleeds from all the old Triteman tales. Even if it meant the Wilds would be worse off for another generation—even if it meant more lost livestock, and a harsher winter—nobody else moved to take the shot.
People will tell it differently, but for my money, I swear the Beast heard ol’ Don. At least, it stopped moving for a few seconds. More than likely, it was the last part of the woman left in the Beast’s body, holding on to the last remnant of human etiquette before fully succumbing to the Feral. It was enough to make Don lower his weapon, though—enough to make him miserable for the rest of his lonely life.
And then the Beast was gone, run off to do whatever it is the Beasts do in between cycles. From deep in the heart of the forest, the last bit of Lettie let out a pained howl that stirred up an entire chorus of wolves. By the end of the cursed melody, Lettie’s voice was indistinguishable from the rest of them.
The kids say if you go by Don’s on the night of a Full Six, you can hear him howlin’, too. And to underscore my earlier observation about human decency and all that, Hurt at the bar told me that, without fail, on every last one of those cursed evenings, the whole town pitches in to send him a case of whisky.
Danny:
Avus scrambled through the field of green, hands grasping wildly for color. His vision, now almost completely gone, caught the glorious glimpse of yellow. He reached out and ripped it into his mouth, chewing before he could verify what it was. Blessedly, sanity came rushing back. He chewed on what he now knew was a flower, savoring the clarity it brought— A momentary escape from the feral existence that loomed. It was not too late.
TJ:
THE QUEEN’S LAPIDARY
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to wear the Blood of Tancer? The Tears of Lakesea? The Teeth of Kolos, or the Bone Pearls of Sevein?
These precious stones are no longer reserved for royalty! Come on down to the Queen’s Lapidary in the Lower Quarter and experience what it feels like to wear the world.
THE QUEEN’S LAPIDARY: TO BE ADORNED IS TO BE ADORED
*** No guarantees made as to the source or integrity of the gems contained in our jewelry. The Queen’s Lapidary is not responsible for any rashes, bleeding, boils, tics, loss of smell, loss of taste, loss of hearing, loss of sensation, possession, dispossession, loss of limb, disorders, conditions, diseases, or any other unforeseen consequences resulting from prolonged exposure to our gems. All sales are final.
Danny: (TJ cheated on word length so I did too)
“La-pih-dare-ee” Korring said aloud. The accent was always a little tricky. “La-pie-dairy- La-pi-dar- Lapidary. Got it.” He walked past the advertisement and opened the door.
“Welcome to The Queen’s Lapidary! What can I interest you in today? Your particular hue of purple will go marvelously paired with Tears of Lakesea earrings…”
Korring waved a dismissive hand. “Lapidary inspection agent four two. Take me to storage for inspection please.”
The man behind the counter twitched left and right, in a way that immediately betrayed his Birden heritage. “I- I’m sorry, who? What?”
Korring leaned forward on the counter with the best cut-the-shit glare he could muster. “Lapidary inspection. From the Academy.” He flashed a badge from his breast pocket as he said it. Or rather, he flashed a nondescript chunk of pressed metal that could pass for a badge if not inspected closely.
”Oh! My! Sorry, yes, yessir, this way sir.” The man pulled a key from his robe and opened the back door. “The gems are all back here.” He walked through and unlocked a large cabinet.
With great effort, Korring hid a smile. The gemstones glistened down at him like beacons from heaven. “Wait outside. He grunted. Do not open the door for any reason.”
The man had closed the door before Korring had even finished speaking. He reached out and began lining his pockets.
Danny:
Arya awoke with a bang as her head bounced against the train’s glass window. Her pain was then coated with a layer of humiliation when a little girl let out a giggle. With a groan, Arya turned away, attempting to ignore both pain and embarrassment.
.
.
.
“You hit your head,” the little girl whispered through chuckles.
Arya felt her humiliation redouble. When she met the girl’s eyes however, she smiled. Soon they were both laughing.
Danny:
“You sure it aint broke?” Erol knocked on the steelman’s head. Lifeless as ever.
“They say it’s all tuned up. Should start when the railcar comes through.”
Erol peaked over the ridge at the empty tracks. “It’s been three days… You sure it-”
A gentle hum grew as the steelman’s eyes flickered a dim yellow. “Howdy, my rootin-tootin compadres.” Its tin voice echoed slightly against the canyon walls. “Let’s go rob a train.”
Paul:
“You ready, son?” His father had his back pressed against the wall, sweat dripping off his forehead.
The boy looked up and wordlessly nodded.
His father’s demeanor instantly shifted into that familiar frustration. “Alter your face, boy! What are you doing?”
“I-I just thought…he fit the job…”
His father scoffed with a demoralizing breath. “Who raised you to be this hollow? Surely wasn’t me!”
The boy dropped his eyes as he rearranged his face from Reed, the sharp-shooting outlaw in The Devil’s Namesake, to the no-name, dead bloke from Britain.
His father looked back at him again with soundless approval.
Vrooooom!
“There it is, boy. Load ‘em up.”
They both charged their laser pistols, then jumped off the bridge onto the speeding railcar.
TJ:
“You’re a genius.” Lemmy craned his neck to watch the wall of smoke leak out the wide window, roll up the building’s facade, and fade into the night sky.
“It’s simple. Just basic physics applied to architecture. ‘I call it the inverted waterfall.’” Frank closed his eyes and gave a satisfied nod as his nose began to twitch. “And you haven’t even experienced the best part yet. Can you smell that? Time to get the meat from the smoker.”
Danny:
Kin brushed the stubble on his cheek as he studied the facade of the cofferhouse. “Entry point?”
“Had a smoker. No damage anywhere. Must have slipped through a crack in the grout or somethin’. Opened it from the inside.”
“Why in the name of God all-fuckin’-mighty did they have a fuckin’ smoker?”
Agent Tinner just shrugged. Kin narrowed his eyes. “The entire damn cofferhouse ain’t got enough in its vault to justify a fuckin’ smoker…”
Danny:
“Look ahead, wise man.”
Arbitus opened his eyes and watched as a stream of glistening white light burst from his chest. The light splintered and forked time and again. Each time, the light dimmed, until the strands were near impossible to see.
“These lights, wise man, lead to you. To who you could be.”
Arbitus smiled a hungry smile.
“Careful, wise man. Manipulating the paths comes at great risk.”
Arbitus did not hear her.
TJ:
“Did you know?”
“Know what?” Arun didn’t even look up from his workbench.
Chandra just stared at the back of his head, hoping he would feel the pain in her gaze.
“Know what?” Arun repeated through an exasperated breath, as he swiveled on his stool to face her.
“That Nami had already gone so far down this path.”
He sighed and then turned around to continue his work. “Of course I did. She’s your daughter, isn’t she?”
Danny:
Excerpt from The First Book of Airus – Coda
The path to the Seventh Gate – Guarded by seven horrors
A boiling river of gold
The mad king
Those who do not sleep
Those who cannot wake
A broken tower
A lost love
Darkness incarnate
Find you here, the ashes of the world.
The Seventh Gate is waiting.
TJ:
“I mean…is it my face? I know it’s not conventionally attractive, but at least it’s not forgettable.”
…
“Well it cannot be my body. I have an ab. Maybe even two, in the right lighting.”
…
“I’m funny, you know. Maybe not ‘laugh out loud’ funny—more like, ‘that’s so funny’ type of funny.”
…
“You know what? Go fuck yourself, then. There’s a million of you and only one of me. I got motherfucking options.”
…
…
…
“Fine! I’m leaving!”
Danny:
“We have ways of making you talk. That’s what you expect, right? Like something out of a movie.”
The prisoner tried to answer through the gag, but only succeeded in releasing panicked moans and grunts.
“See that’s the thing. This isn’t a movie.” He lifted a thin knife up to the prisoner’s face. “I don’t care what you have to say. Ready to begin?”
The prisoner tried to scream.
“Very well, let’s get started.”
TJ:
“Turn, and face me.”
Her father’s voice pulled her body like the strings on a puppet. Suddenly, she was at the cliff’s edge, a step from oblivion.
“Look to the sky. Now, to the earth. What is between?”
She couldn’t speak, but it didn’t matter—the question was not for answering.
“It is nothing. Nothing without my breath. And yet you dare to strangle me while I slumber?”
Before her, the earth split open, and bled.
Danny:
“Relax, gonna happen anyway.” Hal took another swig of ale.
“It’s not that easy,” Jare answered, exhaling smoke into the rafters. “We don’t really know where we’re going.”
“Course we don’t, but that don’t matter. Still gonna happen.”
Jare took another long drag on his pipe. “I know.”
They both sat in silence.
“Time to face the music.”
With a sigh, Jare tipped his head back. “Do it.”
Hal ran the knife across Jare’s throat.
Paul:
The man put three cartridges down on the table, and then showed the empty slot in his gun. “Three choices. Only one lets you live. Pick one”
“But sir, it wasn’t me!” The robot pleaded. “I promise!”
“Promise? No, we let your kind get too comfortable around here.” He took away one cartridge. “Run the numbers now. Tell me your odds.”
“But sir it’s…”
“RUN THE NUMBERS!”
The robot’s face dropped. “They’re all lethal, sir.”
TJ:
“Let him go.”
Mystos’s eyes widened, darting between his father and his brother’s back.
“But, father…with what he knows, he can’t just be allowed to…leave?”
“What does he know? Fodder for conspiracy theorists. It’s not worth taking drastic action yet.”
“Yet?” Mystos scowled, twirling his robe indignantly as he rushed out behind his brother.
The King of Myiros slouched on his throne, bringing his hand to scratch his chin in thought.
I may yet need a Second Son of Myiros. Just in case the First Son fails me.
Danny:
The dame’s silhouette shows through the fogged glass. The name on the door reads:
Detective Casey
P.I.
With a flip of my thumbs, I lock the maroon briefcase of diamonds before the door opens. Last thing I need is for a dame to get a whiff of diamonds.
She enters the room, chest first. A fine first impression. Rather, two fine first impressions.
“You the one who solved the case of St. Cassius?” Her sultry voice forces my eyes to lift and I notice that the dame is more than just a pair of aces.
“The P on the door don’t stand for “public” Ms…”
“You can call me Cassandra. Maybe you’re the brute that can help me, or maybe not. In either case, you’re hired.”
Just like a dame. Thinks she’s the one in charge. I’ll play along for now.
“And what can I help you with, Cassandra?” As I reach down for a cigar, I notice her legs for the first time. With gams that go up that high, I’m surprised she ain’t hit with a case of vertigo when she looks down.
“I own a little building. Club Art on the corner of South and East.”
“You mean Club Art’s Soul Ensemble. I heard C.A.S.E. is quite the happenin’ jazz joint.”
“It used to be, before my partner got a case of homesickness and ran back to his mama.”
“I ain’t here to solve your marital problems. If you need a marriage counselor I know a good case worker out of Philly that-“
“He can go to Hell for all I care. It ain’t the man I’m missing, it’s the money.”
Now she’s speakin’ my language. “Go on.”
“He packed a suitcase and left. Funny thing is, he remembered to pack everything from the register drawer and nothing from his dresser drawer.”
“Seems easy enough. We go to his mama’s, get the money, get your man.”
“Problem is, his mama’s been in a wooden case 6 feet under ground for a while now.”
Interesting. “So, missing person. Missing money. Problem is, doll, I don’t work on contingency.”
She reaches behind her neck and unclips a necklace. I hadn’t even noticed it, seeing as her chest took up so much real estate. She hands it to me, a fat diamond, encased in gold fittings.
Maybe it was the fact that she was leaning forward on my desk, or maybe it was the fact that she’d just handed me a diamond the size of my fist, but something told me to take the case.
“Alright, let’s visit your jazz club.”
“Maybe your ears don’t work as well as your eyes.” She stood back up, taking away the show. “He’s long gone.”
Dames. Guess it wouldn’t be fair if they could have those looks and a man’s brains. They’d rule the world. “We case the joint. They always leave something behind. I’ll get your man.”
“Leave the man, get the money.”
At least this one’s got her priorities right. I grab my pistol and load a few slugs. It’s hard not to laugh at the dame’s face. “Just in case, Cassandra.” I pocket the pistol, and grab a flask of bourbon. I take a swig before pocketing that, too. “Just in case, Cassandra.”
Paul:
“Just in case,” the man said as he held out the handle of the EMP pistol.
The other scoffed with disbelief. “I told you not to bring that. As soon as he sees it, he’s…”
“Don’t let him see it then,” the man said as he cocked the charge, and then spun it back around.
The other begrudgingly took it. “You’re just praying that he’s feral, aren’t you?! You want his whole CPU to be fried so you can go in there and start a light show!”
He scoffed. “He was my friend too, you know.”
TJ:
So this is how I, the great Fentrazi Jiin, meet my end. Surrounded on all sides, not by bloodthirsty enemies, but by smoke-stained pillows, propping me up against the headboard like my sword against the hearth in front of me. For all my misdeeds, this is my pennance—that my last breath will not be a curse, or some primal warcry, but a slow, whispering leak.
Danny:
There’s a leak in room fourteen.
Rich trudged down the hall. How many years had it been? Eight? God, eight years at the hotel and he was still the poor bastard that had to fix leaks. He opened the door to room fourteen and looked up to find blood dripping from the ceiling. He positioned a bucket to catch the mess and loaded his gun. “Damn near every weekend,” he grumbled, leaving for room twenty-four.
Paul:
“I won’t tell you again. Do it,” his mother said as the floating globe hovered above her palm.
“But it wasn’t all of them…it was just a few.” The boy said as tears began to leak from his eyes. “They’ll suffer.”
“Know that if our roles were reversed, they wouldn’t hesitate, not for a second.”
The boy shook his head, but then she grabbed his finger and pressed it into a continent.
“No!” he screamed.
Thunderbards 