Pointing skyward, his finger aflame.
"Can you come here a minute?"
Trying to catch the attention of surf but drawing only seagulls, which landed on his fingertip and looked around stupidly in the low sky of November.
My whole life is a finger on fire, and wrong things coming to help. A man wearing a hat. Some flotsam. A ship in the dead of night, a drunken captain
It was Andy from the grave.
"Can you speak up?" Caroline, distracted anyway by something on TV, couldn't understand him.
"I said it's Andy. From the grave. That's the muffling, the grave."
"Well, it doesn't help you're such a mumbler anyway. Wait, do you mean you're actually calling from the coffin?"
"Not really," said Andy, "but I am dead somewhere. I don't feel like I'm in a box. I feel like I'm in a cloud."
"That could be the coffin. I saw it," Caroline remembered, "it was plush."
"That's nice."
"Listen, did you want something? I've gotta head out in...
Bombs, were the last thing on his mind. Jack turned and spoke " It's funny, that today would have to be the day we become history." Jack lifted his left hand looked at it. and laughed. I puzzled said to him, What do you mean Jack, honey we can make it come on don't talk like th-." He said to me " you know what tomorrow is right?" still puzzled I didn't answer. " it was our to be our wedding day."
It was difficult getting to people to understand that actually you wanted to be in the cage. That the cage was the safest place at the moment.
The rest of the world had gone mad - or at least, it seemed that way. Maybe the world had always been like this, maybe there had always been something in a stranger's eye, maybe there was always something in the rain that made it taste funny.
Maybe the drugs were wearing off, maybe he was finally waking up to the reality. Or the drugs were taking effect, maybe he was devolving (he'd...
Good night…
Good morning…
Good afternoon…
Chet had to find his own fun while working as a department-store greeter. Sometimes he said “Good evening” instead of “Good night” to the fancier-looking customers. Sometimes he said it to the disreputable customers, too, but a bit sarcastically, to see if they’d pick it up on it. They usually didn’t.
Every now and then Chet would greet someone with the wrong time of day. “Good afternoon, sir,” he’d say, as the sun was peeking over the mountains. “Good night, ma’am,” while the sun was burning hot overhead. And usually people just continued on...
The disco ball was turning. It would complete its revolution in 43.247 seconds. Just now, 100 times since he'd arrived. It had 1579 mirrored faces. That was a good number. Prime and a Fibonacci. Doubly good. Three tiny squares of mirrored glass were missing, showing the grey of the adhesive beneath.
"39.7617907."
"What? Oh, square roots again."
His brother smiled a sigh, then leaned nearer to combat the thunderous bass and the high pitched chatter. It wasn't enough. He had to shout over the music.
"I'm nearly done. Just a few more minutes, ok?"
He took the shrug as acceptance...
It was hard to send a message in a bottle when you didn't even have the bottle.
Harry sighed as he put the folded bit of paper into the stream, hoping it would be carried to someone who would find him. Someone with better navigational skills than he had anyway. He couldn't even write his location, because he hadn't the slightest Goddamn idea where he was. GPS didn't do a hell of a lot of good with a dead phone, and if he hadn't slipped down that muddy slope...
Nevermind.
He rested along the stream's edge and looked up at...
Shit.
Bob hit the switch again.
I'm not too surprised because he's the biggest klutz I've ever had the misfortune to know. It had to happen the one day I forgot my tethers.
I took a quick look around. No nearby trees to grab. The neighbour's dog was starting to lift. That *was* surprising. That bitch was huge.
The dog, I mean.
I was about 10 fet off the ground now and slowly accelerating. 'Bob, you wanker. Can you hear me?'
He stuck his unshaven face out the window. 'Wot?'
'You hit the switch again, right?'
'Wot switch?' He stuffed...
When Martin stood there in disbelieve, but she was deadly serious. "I understand that you have every reason not to trust me here, Martin, but I'm not kidding. If I bring you to the camp, you will never get that chance again. Your teleporter will be gone forever. So please, do what I told you. And come back." Martin thought about his brother all of a sudden, and how he always pranked him into doing something stupid. He felt the little scar on his index finger, where his brother tricked him into touching mom's iron. And he also thought about...
Her first Christmas back at home was a terrifying event. Someone named Aunt Martha kept hugging her, crying. She said the strangest things. She asked Shelly, "Do you remember me? You were just a baby the last time I saw you." Of course not, Shelly wanted to say. I couldn't possibly remember you if I was a baby, she thought. But this woman obviously loved her, like all the other people here.
Not like he loved her, but they did. They tried, bless their hearts, but it wasn't the same. They told her he was bad, that he took her...