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.

Prophecy Boy

Boris was one of her top muscle, trusted, but still a normal; Aulia's eyes burned at him as he explained the half-naked kid on her office floor. "He was just there, on the sidewalk out front, just like that. We didn't rough him up, I swear."

The kid had that look, and it wasn't just the dust in his hair and the flakes of dirt caked to his skin, or even the smell. She'd gotten very good at placing people a very long time ago. "He's 'earth'."

"So, maybe he just grew there, like—"

"That's a myth." Aulia knelt down, close to the boy's face; he didn't recoil. Her voice was suddenly soothing, quiet, without its usual authoritative bite. "Are you hurt? Do you have a name?"

The kid said nothing. "Get one of the girls to clean him up. Get Cherry; she'll like him." I always wanted a pet.

Fantasy Drabble #369 "Surveillance"

Magic.

No such thing. Don't be—

Magic. All she has to do is close her eyes and think about you, about your face and your smell and the rasp in your voice, and she's there. I use the same magic, but she's stronger, so she sees.

Why can't she talk?

She could talk, but why would she? She watched you digging, she watched you pull the Shard out of the dirt, she watched you kill the guide and drop his corpse into the hole. The only thing she doesn't know about is me.

How do I get away?

You don't.

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.

Take Me To The River

It doesn't matter to me that I'm alone. They say not to dive without a buddy, that people have drowned, but no one can every name anyone who drowned, so fuck that, I do what I want.

The water speaks to me. I don't mean in some bullshit artsy-fartsy way where I'm just saying it's my 'thing'; I mean it speaks to me in words. I have to be deep enough that getting down and back takes all the air I can hold in my lungs, but for the short time I'm down there, man, it's talking my ear off.

Maybe there's something down there beside just the water, I don't know. But whatever it is, it says more nice things to me than my fucking mother and her fucking boyfriend Red ever do, so I'm gonna keep on diving down there and listening. What else am I gonna do?