Choice

She was there, in the doorway, a shape of deeper black cut into the darkness. "It's done."

I turned my head, closed my eyes, as if to return to an interrupted sleep. "I don't know what you mean."

There was rustling, and a moving of the bed, and then she was behind me, fingertips resting on my arm. "They won't bother us. They've left."

They've left. It could have meant so many things, none of them good for the others.

Her leg, bare at least to the thigh, hooked itself around mine. "This is what you wanted."

She wasn't wrong.

Fantasy Drabble #374 "Imperator"

They ambled with no urgency up the hillside, at the rear of the procession, already in the shadow of the great stone statue. "Is he a God or a King?"

His mother answered, "A God and a King."

"Was he always both? Which one was he first?"

"You're full of questions! He was a King first, I think, and then later a God; that's what I think, anyway. I'm sure the priests would answer the other way around."

"When did he become a statue?"

She laughed, squeezed his hand. "A very long time ago, darling. And he's not changing back."

SF Drabble #465 "Atmosphere"

Hraff stepped out into the air and spread his wingtips wide, leaned into a slow bank down and away, painted ever-widening imaginary circles across the mesa below during a leisurely descent from the aerie.

"He's healing well," observed Jorge.

"He's still not sure of himself," Perry answered, worry in her voice. "He used to dive  almost the whole way straight down before pulling out of it, and now... now it's like he's afraid he might shear his wings off."

"You're wrong," Jorge said. "You're projecting."

"I'm not—"

"Look at him. Watch him. He's just enjoying being in the sky again."

SF Drabble #462 "Collaborator"

"I'm trying to help you."

"You work for them."

"We all work for them. That's the way it is. Maybe it could have gone another way, but they're here now, and they're in charge, and if you want to earn work credits for food, you'll follow the rules."

"And if I don't?"

"I'll report you."

"Of course you will."

"If I don't, I lose my position, and my work credits, and I starve to death. I'm a couple years from making Class C, and if you think I'm letting you fuck that up for me, you're out of your mind."

SF Drabble #460 "The Gourmand"

"My name is Alistair Forsythe, I'm from the UN Bureau of—"

"You're here for the alien?"

"…correct."

"I assume you can cover his bill?"

"How much is it?"

"Well, he ordered one of everything, so I'm afraid it's up there. He's made a hefty dent in our wine list as well. It's been an hour since I ran a new total, but—"

"A new total?"

"Yeah. We're probably into the low five digits by now…"

"Of course we are."

"I'm surprised he's still eating, considering—"

Forsythe fished out the 'company' card. "The Shchinwhee have two stomachs. And they're remarkable elastic."

It's A Magical Place

It's in one of them: one of these, along this wall. I wish I could remember the color, the width, the first letter of the author's name, anything.  Anything.

Mama read it to me, when I was little, this story set in this place she loved so well, this hamlet with the little cottages and the fishing pier and the band gazebo and the mom-and-pop grocer. She'd close the book at the end and sigh and say, "I'm going to live there someday. Just you wait."

She's there now. She's fine. They don't know what I know. She's not dead.

SF Drabble #459 "And I'll Cry If I Want To"

They caught each others' eye and slipped away from the throng to meet and commiserate in the corner. Lieutenant Kirk whispered, "How long has he been going now?"

Forsythe didn't have to look at his watch again. "Four hours."

In the middle of the room: the Yourian ambassador, surrounded by party-goers, laughing his wide-mouthed laugh, bellowing incomprehensible jokes and stories, naked but for his purse-harness and his downy feathers and his worryingly growing erection.

Forsythe was coming to the realization that his night was only just beginning. "I think he's drunk."

"He's drinking orange juice."

"I don't know his chemistry."

Zombie Drabble #428 "In Memoriam"

Vic turned his ankle on the curb and was on the ground and they had him before any of us even knew it. I was down to three rounds at that point. I don't know how many bullets Red had left, or Angie, you'd have to ask them, but I had three. Maybe we could have taken down the zombies that were eating Vic, maybe saving the ammo and gone in with knives and shit, and cleared him long enough to say his goodbyes and put him out of his misery or whatever.

But none of us particularly liked Vic.

SF Drabble #456 "Forward"

I'm right where I'm supposed to be, at least I think I am. No one saw me appear, the alley was obscured by this big container, seems to be some sort of combination recycling bin and vending machine. Guy was holding his phone against it, gave me a sheepish look as I passed him, said, "Low battery."

Then a cop yelled at me for not following the lines. There's different-colored lines on the sidewalk. Oh, and the cop's a robot.

Lots of changes, and I don't know enough to get along. I need to find a way to catch up.

Public Enemy Number One

"What'll you have, sweetie?"

"Coffee." He ran a hand through his hair. "And maybe some pie?"

She brought him the cup and saucer, pushed over the caddy containing packets of sugar and cream. A police car pulled up outside while she poured, then another, and then two more. She finally noticed the pistol in his belt. "They here for you?"

He looked over his shoulder. "Yeah."

"I've got a daughter."

"You got a back door?"

"They'll have the back covered too."

"It's for you." He tore open a sugar packet. "Go on. But bring me that piece of pie first."

It's The Thought That Counts

She didn't talk. The only sound was the the rain pelting the street and the parked cars and the canvas awnings. He waited as long as he could before speaking. "I could make a run for it, bring the car around and—"

"Nooo…" He interpreted her tone: I'm still exasperated at you, but you don't have to do that.

He'd left the umbrellas in the car, and the restaurant was her old favorite as opposed to her new favorite, and he hadn't remembered the song that was playing when they met. "Okay."

Eventually she reached out and held his hand.

SF Drabble #455 "In Darkness Let Me Dwell"

"Maitland. Maitland, do you read? Maitland!"

"Jesus. What, Ross? I'm trying to take a—"

"The 'O' tanks at Marker 3 are empty."

"Shouldn't be. I topped them off yesterday. Are you—"

"I'm sure. I'm almost at Marker 2 now. I've got maybe three minutes left in my tanks."

"Who do you suppose drained the tanks at Marker 3?"

"Does it matter?"

"I mean, it's either the Euros or the Chinese, they're the only ones in range. When you reach 2 you should look—"

"I'm there. Stand by…"

"Copy."

"2 is dry also."

"Fuck. Ross—"

"Find out who killed me, Maitland."

SF Drabble #454 "The Quilt"

There's a square by Grandma who was a go-go dancer in the 1990's and who retired to Boca but would always drive up to Canaveral to see the launches. There's a square for her sister, Great Aunt June, who lived with Grandma for a month one summer while waiting to join her husband who had just died.

There's a square for Aunt Meanie we aren't allowed to ask about. There's a square for Mom that she made while they were waiting to be frozen for the trip. There's a square for all the family's Earthborn women.

Now it's my turn.

Fantasy Drabble #370 "You'll Always Remember Your First Time"

Aulia ran between the trees, needled branches whipping her face and arms, fountains of powdery snow jumping at her feet. They were behind her somewhere, driving her forward with the barking of their dogs and the clattering of their weapons, but she was pulling ahead…

"Halt." He was ten feet in front of her, sword drawn. "Bitch."

She tried to stop, slipped, tumbled through the snow and came to rest at his feet. He slid his sword into its scabbard, grinned, and reached for his belt.

They locked eyes; something switched on inside her and he burst screaming into flame.

SF Drabble #453 "Castle Doctrine"

Two eights, three eights, four eights and counting. More every day. Come down from sky in made things like a hoor cocoon that pisses fire as it falls.

Family come from all around, long way away, come without being called, heard the noise. Cousins of cousins of cousins who almost smell right stalk my ground. Fathers of uncles say it is like war-time and to show patience.

So many of us, no normal prey left. All are hungry and tempers short. But more cocoons fall and more eights of standing talking prey come every day. Soon we will eat well.

Our Third Date

We slipped and splashed our way from the car with the ruined tire up the muddy driveway to a darkened house, to knock on a door that would not be answered. Even under the awning, we were still pelted with horizontal rain, so we made for the barn.

You were soaked through, but you didn't want to take off your dress; I had to seduce you out of it. The straw was dry, and there was a space heater, and we were careful to keep them separated.

I hadn't seen your tattoo before. Now I have one just like it.

SF Drabble 451 "Like Cobwebs"

Booooong.

"Arno Vets, come forward." The crumpled old man shuffled up to the line, stopped, clasped trembling hands behind his back. "Arno Vets, you have been judged medically unfit for work. You are reassigned to Barrack Housing 185-A. Dismissed."

We didn't watch him go; we were listening for our own names.

Booooong.

"Capi Macklore, come forward." A well-dressed woman moved to the line and smiled casually. "Capi Macklore, your debt has been paid by an anonymous Citizen and the fine waived. No further action. Dismissed." There was grumbling as she left.

Booooong.

"Wace Halvaneer, come forward."

Me. Here we go.

Fantasy Drabble #367 "Recipe"

"Then what?"

She continued stirring, but called out over her shoulder: "Crow's eye. Three."

"Crow's eye… crow's eye…" There were shelves upon shelves of bottle after bottle, and no categorization system that I could recognize. "I don't see it. What do they look like?"

"Seen a crow?"

"Sure."

"Did it have eyes?"

"…I guess."

"Like that then. Crow's eye. And be quick, we're almost to a boil here."

Still nothing. "Are you sure you need them?"

She stopped stirring, turned around. "Do you want this Roscover fellow dead," she hissed, jabbing a gnarled finger in my direction, "or don't you?"

Bane

The lights are on in the convenience store, unlike in the parking lot, but there's no clerk. Marcie drags the stranger inside, lays him on a big welcome mat while Parker locks the doors and pushes the magazine display over to block them.

"He's bleeding bad."

"I'm gonna see if there's another door," Parker says, and runs towards the back.

She doesn't have to tear open the stranger's shirt: it's already in tatters. Four parallel gouges go from just below his Adam's apple down to his hip. She can see bone. "Parker…"

The lights in the store go out.

"Parker!"

SF Drabble #446 "Superpod"

They stood at the very edge of the aerie — Perry and Jorge a few steps back, Hraff with claws dug into the lip — their eyes turned upward, outward; the sky was a roiling cloud of Fri.

"How many are here?"

Hraff rumbled, "All clans. Most from each clan. Some stay behind."

Like Hraff, apparently. "Why?"

"Find mates. Socialize, play games. Negotiate."

"Dolphins do the same thing," Jorge said.

"Dolphins?" Hraff asked.

"Earth swimmers."

Hraff leaned as far out as he could, perfectly balanced between rock and sky. "Are they beautiful?"

Remembering another world, a smile grew across Perry's face. "Absolutely."