Review of Reviewing

It's that time of year again. The Nebula and Hugo nominees have been announced, and I'm done with school for the semester. Time to read up on the latest of the greatest of last year's science fiction and fantasy! And then write about like I did last year. But I think this year I'll spread the reviewing out a bit more, and not necessarily wait to finish all the books until I post a review. That will help me be a little fresher with the book in my mind and perhaps give the reviews a bit more depth.

I went ahead this year and bought myself a supporting membership for this year's Worldcon. I have to admit, part of it is because I read that they plan to include the entire Wheel of Time series in the voter packet. I remember friends recommending those books to me, and I always said that I didn't want to devote myself to a hugely long series with no end in sight. Well, the series is over, so I guess I can try and read it. I might be posting that review last. Like, in December. Maybe.

Even without a 15 book series, I think the voter packet seems like a good deal. Once the packet is out, then maybe I'll post a review of whether or not it was indeed a good deal.

The nominees for the Best Novel Nebula are (from here):
We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves, Karen Joy Fowler (Marian Wood)
The Ocean at the End of the Lane, Neil Gaiman (Morrow; Headline Review)
Fire with Fire, Charles E. Gannon (Baen)
Hild, Nicola Griffith (Farrar, Straus and Giroux)
Ancillary Justice, Ann Leckie (Orbit US; Orbit UK)
The Red: First Light, Linda Nagata (Mythic Island)
A Stranger in Olondria, Sofia Samatar (Small Beer)
The Golem and the Jinni, Helene Wecker (Harper)

And the Best Novel Hugo nominees (from here):
Ancillary Justice, Ann Leckie (Orbit US/Orbit UK)
Neptune’s Brood, Charles Stross (Ace / Orbit UK)
Parasite, Mira Grant (Orbit US/Orbit UK)
Warbound, Book III of the Grimnoir Chronicles, Larry Correia (Baen Books)
The Wheel of Time, Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson (Tor Books / Orbit UK)

Since there's only one overlap this year, I've just gone and committed myself to a lot of reading. At least, if I decide to read every book to completion, because that's what I usually do. And especially in this case, since a number of people have found these books to be worthy in some way. That means there are probably things that I can learn from them. If I dislike them, then I can learn what makes me dislike a book and avoid that when I write. In theory. . .

I mean, I rarely stop reading a book, even if I don't like it (there's this one fantasy book that I only kept reading because it was so awful, like a train wreck). It isn't exactly that I'm trying to give it a chance to get better. It's more of a challenge for myself. There are times when I just can't do it, or won't do it. I had a copy of Sense and Sensibility on my bookshelf for years, and tried to read it many times. Every time, I would get about ten pages in and quit. And yet, I enjoyed reading War and Peace. I keep meaning to read that again, but this time in ebook form so I don't break my wrists or strain my eyes.

I'm not sure where I'm going to start with the nominee list. The voter packet probably won't show up this week, so I guess it will depend on what the library has available. But The Wheel of Time is definitely going last. It just is.

Flash Fiction Challenge: Four Random Items

Another Flash Fiction Challenge entry for Terrible Minds: 

The Pawn

Gorseton was a good town, with solid walls and a thriving market, but, like most of Trogshold, it followed a strict religion which allowed neither practice nor preaching of other faiths. Only the single god could be worshiped, and worshiped it must be by all folk hoping to find shelter in Gorseton’s walls. These strictures made it easy for my mother and I to conceal ourselves for many months after we fled Dnarlo.

We held no regard for their faith or their god, but managed quite well to conceal our true beliefs. I found it difficult, especially when the priesthood flaunted their corruption, as they seemed to at almost any opportunity. The day we fled, I found it at the market.

The central market of Gorseton was a great square, centered by a fountain and surrounded on all sides by aisles of stalls. By dusk, many were packing up for the night, but a few stayed open later – wine stalls, those offering entertainment, and, of course, those offering religious items.

My greatest complaint about Gorseton was that they allowed no medicine that was not blessed. I know perfectly well that the yellow flower of autumn that grows in brambles, when ground to a powder will relieve pain, but to them, it would do nothing if the blessing of their god was not conferred under proper ceremony. Naturally, this made the price higher, as the priests of the single god could not accept offerings for anything other than services directly rendered. And, somehow, they managed to find enough services to offer to keep them in fine food and finer living.

I purchased the powder from the temple stall that had red shaded lamps already lit at the corners against the waning light of day. The stall keeper raised her hands in blessing, and I saw that she was a novice priest. I kept my face still as I added a copper to the payment. I wanted to skimp, or grumble, but that was not a choice given to me. Walking away from the stall, I saw the man for the first time.

He wore a black cloak that covered his body, leaving his hands and head the only points of identity. The hands were dirty and dark, but the face was lighter in color. Brown hair grew to his shoulders. In Gorseton, only men who were priests were allowed long hair, but such a faux pas would not cost the stranger much. It was what swung from his neck on a leather thong that could get him killed.

Whether it was luck or fate, I cannot say, but the pawn was black, hiding against the cloth of his cloak. I knew it quickly only because I wore its twin around my neck, carefully concealed under my clothing.

The pawn is the symbol of Ayndu’s worship. She is the Goddess to whom I pray, despite being driven from Dnarlo, Ayndu’s cradle, for a blasphemy in the minds of a corrupt priest. The pawn reminds us that we are all pawns in the games of the Gods, and to know our place is to grasp the ability to go beyond.

I made my decision in but a moment, running into him as if I were clumsy and dropping my purchase and pouch. He apologized and leaned down to help me.

“You cannot wear that here,” I whispered as our heads were close to the ground. “Do you not know they will kill you?”

“If they were going to kill me for it, then why have they not already, since I’ve passed the gate guard and paid an entry tax in return for a blessing from a worthless god?”

I gasped, both to hear their single god so named and to hear my own thoughts echoed in this stranger’s words.

“But you, you grasped me immediately. I think you’re the one I’m looking for.” He slid a hand inside his cloak and came out with a leather mask. I paled and scooped up the powder. He held my pouch, but it didn’t matter as much as fleeing.

He grabbed for my arm, but I slipped away and ran.

“Wait! Come back!” I heard him yell, but I didn’t slow. He would just draw the attention of some priest who did know the pawn for what it was.

The powder eased my mother’s pains enough to start our journey immediately, taking only what we could carry, what was prepared for exactly such a need. We headed north, and east, farther away from the lands and people that we knew.

Our first three days on the road passed without event, but on the morning of the fourth, my mother could not rise from her bedroll. We were travelling by foot and spending nights in traveler’s clearings by crossroads, but staying more than one night would attract unwanted attention. Staying for the day certainly would. I studied the signs of the crossing and compared them to my map. It would take three days for me to make the next village, and the same number back. Far too long to leave mother alone.

That’s where he found me. His black cloak was the same, but the pawn was now concealed, and his face was covered by the mask, a smooth, supple brown covering with eyeholes and slits for nose and mouth. A priest of Ayndu, come to kill us and end our journey for good.

I pulled my own pawn out from under my shirt. It shone white, brighter than I had ever seen it. The stories call that color Ayndu’s eye, and I glared at the priest, daring him to defy her sign of favor.

His eyes crinkled in what seemed like a smile. He went to his knees and pulled out a small object that he offered to me. I stepped closer. Cupped in his hands was the skull of a rat.

“Tarn was called to trial by the assembly, and found guilty of corruption. His guilt chose his final form, and I was commissioned to bring it to you as proof, and to beg for your return, Your Highness, and that of the queen mother, if she still lives.”

Flash Fiction Challenge: Last Lines First

Another Flash Fiction Challenge entry courtesy of TerribleMinds. Last week's challenge was to propose a last line of a story, and this week we were to choose one of Chuck's top ten last lines to be our first lines. I picked, "She closed the book and watched as it turned to dust." For a while I thought about going with a Twilight Zone kind of tale wherein she can't finish any books because they all turn to dust when she puts them down, but then I ended up with something different.


"A Brand New World"

She closed the book and watched as it turned to dust. The parchment paper caught every speck, and she didn’t dare breathe as she picked up the edges and tilted it into a clean Erlenmeyer flask. The dust slid smoothly off, needing only a few light taps to get the last of it off. Then she snugged a cork stopper into the narrow glass neck and set it aside.

Her feet tapped on the rungs of the stool in her workshop. She took a deep breath and blew it out noisily. There was no point in waiting any longer.

#

Her workshop was a hovel. It used to be a garage attached to a house, but somewhere along the line the house had been destroyed, leaving behind a pile of wood and rusting fixtures. The garage door might have been hooked up to move at the click of a button once, but was now sealed by rust and – I squinted – spells.

When the magic first came to Boise, those that could, fled. Settling in like an inversion layer, the magic took everyone by surprise. Houses like this one weren’t uncommon when a family found out the hard way that a baby had been infected with abilities far beyond reason or comprehension.

Drive a few hours in any direction and it’s gone.

For now.

I knocked at the side door and listened. Metallic squeaks, a muffled hiss of pain, three physical bolts and one alchemical seal presaged the opening of the door. My contact’s hair hung in limp, unwashed strands around her face, the start of dreadlocks that wouldn’t quite come together. Her skin was pale and sheened with sweat. No wonder she'd done it so fast.

“Payment?”

I pulled a vial of golden dust out of my jacket pocket and held it up for her to inspect. She reached out and I pulled it away.

“One vial of dragonfly in exchange for one powdered book,” I said. She made a frustrated hum in the back of her throat.

“Come in, then.”

I walked inside, careful not to make physical contact with her as I slid into the crowded room and she resealed the door behind us. I let a part of my mind make a quick analysis of her security and decided I would be able to exit with or without her cooperation. Then I made my way over to her worktable and wrinkled my nose. Too much clutter to tell where my product might be hiding.

She scooted past me and plucked a corked flask from the wreckage. I reached for it, but she slithered away. I rolled my eyes and held out the vial.

She practically shoved the flask at me as she snatched her payment out of my hand.

“Go ahead,” I said. “Check it.”

I could tell she wanted to be alone, but her arm spasmed. Once it calmed, she popped the vial open and used a long fingernail to scoop up some of the sparkling powder. She capped the vial and snorted her fix.

The change was immediate. Her features shimmered, the lank hair acquiring a new sheen, the pocked face becoming clear and smooth. She smiled, and was almost beautiful.

“Don’t know why you wanted that book dusted anyway. It was so old it was practically dust already.”

“I know. It was a first edition.”

She frowned without losing a bit of her artificial beauty. I began to ease my way to the door, and she followed.

“I destroyed a first edition?”

“And you were paid well for it.”

She swallowed. The vial I’d given her would last for months, well husbanded. I’d bet on her squandering it in a week, two at the outside.

I waited for her to unseal the door, which she did with an appearance of grace ruined by it sticking and needing a good shove.

She watched me walk away before shutting herself back inside her own little corner of a world gone to hell.

#

Like most of the remaining residents, I used a bicycle to get around. Anything much more technologically advanced had stopped working, and a bike gave you a better chance of out-running the gangs of feral, semi-intelligent cats that had taken over the North End.

I took the safest route to my workshop, in the basement of an abandoned building on the outskirts of what used to be Boise State University, before that fateful day when chemistry met alchemy and leveled ten city blocks. It involved going out of my way by about two miles, but I only needed one encounter with a bridge troll to decide a second was not in my best interests.

I ducked through intentionally unkempt brush to the trace that led to my stairs, concealed by a simple lattice of branches. At the bottom of the stairs, the door with no knob served to give visitors pause, if they didn’t know the trick to opening it. I placed my hands on two spots and spoke the key invocation. Handles materialized and I pulled the door open and slipped inside before it thunked close again.

Two rooms, a closet and a bathroom, all much cleaner than the addict’s I’d just seen. The entry room was my bedroom (the better to greet unwelcome guests at any and all hours). I walked down the hall to my work room and pulled out the flask, popping out the cork and setting it on the spot I had prepared in the wee hours of the night.

How the University had come upon such an edition in the first place, I didn’t know, but when I found it scavenging in the sub-basement of the wrecked library, the spell came to me in a flash of revelation.

The flask sat on a mirror, with four objects placed around it at cardinal points: a rose, a dead bee, a thimble and a gold ring.

The words I spoke were nonsense in any language, but in this new pocket of magic that had burst onto the world, they carried meaning. Meaning guided by my intent.

The dust began to flow out of the flask, coalescing in the air above it as the book it had started as.

“K-saosstt-nsmp-oys-tu,” I said, finishing after half an hour of intense concentration. My throat felt dry. I plucked the new-old book from the air and flipped to the end. I had always wanted it to end differently.

And now it did, wherever magic held sway.

The Savage lives.

Flash Fiction Challenge: Another Roll of the Dice

This story began as a response to the latest Flash Fiction Challenge from Terrible Minds, but it didn't go where it was supposed to go. The genres were supposed to be superhero and conspiracy thriller, and the required elements were a bottle of rare liquid and a perilous journey. Most of that got totally lost. Here's to not following the rules:

"But I'm a Superhero!"

"'You're going to need braces,' he says to my mom, all calm and collected like he's not scared I'm going to punch him through a wall. I've never wanted to break the code so badly in my life!" Shawna grabbed a chunk of granite and squeezed it to sand while her cousin Alison lounged on a nearby boulder and smirked.

"Oh yeah, your life is so hard; cutting class to save lives, being awarded medals and the keys to - how many cities is it again?"

"Thirteen and a half."

"A half?"

Shawna scowled.

"Yeah, Spokane wanted to award me and Roddy both for that Sasquatch incident and you know what happens when that little assbite has to share the spotlight."

Alison rolled her eyes.

"Of course. So, you need braces, it's not like anyone's going to dare tease you about it. Was that all you flew me up to this mountaintop for?"

"Maybe." Shawna sighed, blowing Alison's hair back in a gust. "Oops, sorry."

"Whatever. Come on, if we leave now, we can make it back before dinner." Alison stood up and gave Shawna a hug before hopping on her back. "Giddyap!"

"If you say that one more time, I swear I'll drop you in the Grand Canyon!"

#

Hey S,
Saw this ad and thought of your issue - you can take the pain, so why not get things done quick?

Shawna clicked the link and gasped. Orthodontics for Super People! No way! Why hadn't Doc Quigley mentioned this option?

"Mom!" Shawna yelled, shaking the house on its foundation.

"Modulate your voice, dear," her mother said when she came to the door.

"Mom, look! One visit and they'll have my teeth straightened and I won't have to wear braces, please, please, pretty please with sugar on top?"

Her mother scanned the website over Shawna's shoulder.

"They'll have to put you under general anesthetic. I'm not sure I like the sound of that. They might not even be able to knock you out with the constitution you have."

"Can't we just visit them?"

"I suppose it won't hurt- oh!" Shawna picked her mother up and twirled her around the room.

"Yay!"

"Young lady, put me down."

Shawna did, smiling so hard that the room was noticeably brighter.

#

Shawna flew her mom's car over two states for the appointment. Shawna and her mother entered a dusty looking office building. The business listing in the lobby had more blanks than offices. Insurance, lawyer, lawyer, accountant and the offices of C. Soto, DDS, MS, room 211.

The door from the hall opened directly into the doctor's office. Framed diplomas and certificates vied for wall space with pictures of toothy white smiles in beaming young faces.

"Welcome, hello, hello. You must be Shawna. I've read so much about you- so many exploits for one so young. Truly, you are super, my dear. And I will help you have a super smile to go along with your super abilities, yes? Please, sit," said the doctor, a small woman wearing dark framed glasses. Her accent was faint, just tinging her words with the music of another native tongue. Shawna noticed that she dyed her hair, but it wasn't to cover gray. Instead, Shawna's penetrating vision discovered blonde locks under the seriously dark hair.

"We haven't actually decided yet," her mother said, clearing her throat. "This is just a consultation. I'm particularly interested in what kind of sedative you think will allow you to work on her."

"Oh, that, my dear, is the beauty of it. There will be no need for a special sedative. I have a technique that will allow me to manipulate the girl's energy levels in such a way as to allow her to respond to normal drugs. Proprietary, of course, so you understand I cannot go into specifics." Dr. Soto smiled. Shawna didn't like her smile. It seemed to make the room darker.

She tuned out as her mother started asking her motherly questions. The more they spoke, the less comfortable Shawna she felt. All the answers were fine, right, perfect. And her mother was nodding. Wasn't that good?

"Just sign here, and we can get started right away, yes?"

"Of course."

Before the ink could even dry, Dr. Soto whisked the paper away and pressed a button on her phone.
"Sugar, come get Shawna Petersen prepped."

"Prepped?" Shawna said. "Now?"

"Yes."

An even smaller woman wearing scrubs that matched canary yellow curls walked in and led Shawna away from her nodding smiling mother. This is what I wanted, Shawna thought. I'm not going to get braces. She smiled, but it wobbled and slid off her face as she ran her tongue around the crookedness of her teeth, the small gap to one side on the top that had always bugged her.

Sugar led her to a small room with a dental chair and gestured for her to sit. Shawna looked at the room. There was something wrong. The ceiling was too low. The walls didn't quite fit.

"Please have a seat," Candy said. "The doctor will be with you shortly."

"You like working for Dr. Soto?"

Sugar walked to the door and pressed an intercom button.

"Spice, please come to room 1."

A woman who could have been Sugar's twin walked through the door a moment later, dressed exactly the same, but with hair a lighter shade of blonde. They joined hands and stepped over to Shawna, using their free hands to push her down onto the chair and hold her there.

Shawna felt her body grow heavy the moment they touched her. She blinked, though it shouldn't have surprised her that someone planning to treat supers would employ nulls. But just because they were touching her didn't mean that normal drugs would be able to knock her out.

Dr. Soto walked through the door and ignored Shawna on her way across the room. The walls recessed and revealed a large machine to Shawna's right. Pumps thumped and liquids swirled and swished through rainbows of glass piping. A metal halo was attached on an arm that Dr. Soto swung over Shawna's head.

"In three, two, one," she said. At one, the nulls let go of Shawna and stepped back. Shawna felt a strike of vertigo lance her skull, shifting her vision to a double view for a moment before sliding back into focus. She felt dizzy as Sugar and Spice proceeded to hook an IV needled in her arm. Before she could recover from the zap, the room went dark.

#

"Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead.

"It's time to wake up!" Alison slapped Shawna's cheeks.

"Where am I?" Shawna asked. She blinked, but her vision stayed blurry.

"I, I, I, me, me, me, that's all you ever think about isn't it? How can I save the orphans from the burning building? How can I prevent massive flooding in Calgary? How can I get my stupid crooked teeth fixed without having to wear braces? Selfish little bitch."

Shawna tried to sit up, but found herself bound by straps at wrists, ankles and waist. Leather straps. She should be able to snap those with hardly a thought, but... something was wrong.

"What's happening?" she asked, blinking rapidly. There was a light overhead shining right in her face. She couldn't see the rest of the room.

"It isn't about what's happening, bitch, but about what's happened. Feeling a little off, are we? A little weak? Mortal, perhaps? Don't bother answering; you might strain yourself." Alison slammed a fist down on Shawna's midsection, forcing the air out of her lungs. Shawna struggled to breathe, going red and then purple before she could get air to whoosh back into her starved body.

"Carmela was right. You're just like me now," Alison said into Shawna's ear. "And that's the way you're going to stay."

Flash Fiction Challenge: Five Random Sentences

Another Flash Fiction Challenge out of Terrible Minds. 861 words.

Oblique Desire

I must find a way out of the Courtship. I have seen family and friends go off only to come back pregnant and then marry after their children are born and paternity proven. I do not know why it is that I have these feelings, only that I must do something to try and stop the inexorable weight of society's expectation.

My cousin Delphinia is the only woman I know to come back from the Courtship not bearing a child. I invite her over on an evening that finds my parents away for the evening. Along with the parents of other young women my age from the enclave, they are meeting the parents of young men from elsewhere, among whom they hope to meet the parents of my future husband.

We recline on cushions before my low table as the moon rises. She tells me of her sister's new husband, how happy they are with their baby girl. My hands tremble as I ply her first with honeyed wine. Later, when her lids are heavy and her lips are stained, I offer to light the hookah. She smiles and politely declines three times before accepting.

"Please, Delphi, tell me about Courtship." She sighs and turns her head away, blowing a stream of smoke scented with strawberries, tinged with burnt sugar.

"Sweet Nadi, you are too young to ask of such things."

"In two short weeks, I shall have to endure the Courtship myself. How can that be too young?"

I top off her wine when her head turns again.

"Endure?" She snorts a laugh. "Oh child, it is the Courtship. You will find a man and marry. Or you will not. What more is there to know?"

I lean over the cushions between us and whisper into her ear.

"If you do not tell me, then I will loosen my tongue about the special visits you and Winnie share. How will I ever imitate those sounds for your father? It will surely turn my face redder than your bottom will be before he finishes with you."

She jerks away from me, upsetting the table, spilling our wine. I mop up the mess. Delphi is staring at me, breathing in quick shudders. I know she has never seen her sweet, quiet Nadi like this.

"You have gone through Courtship seven times Delphi. You have not borne child and you have not married. Tell me your secret!"

Her smoke-reddened eyes spill over with tears.

"Secret? Nadi, I am barren. I shall never wed and my blood will be cut off from our history. How could you desire this?"

She begins to wail and sob, but the act is off, like when she pretends interest in men for the sake of her family's honor. I shake her shoulders and pinch her cheek.

"Delphi! Just tell me about it."

She sniffs, pulling a scarf from her sleeve to clean her face.

"You did not have to pinch so hard. Let me braid your hair and I will tell you."

I scoot around in front of her, and she begins to finger-comb my hair, tutting at every tangle and split end.

"Imagine a room filled with candlelight and young people, all nervous, shifting, sweating."

Her voice is soft and her hands remind me of my mother, before shouting became our main form of communication.

"The Elders know that many will have trouble with the ritual, so accommodations are made. No one will be left out. It is the way of Courtship."

The wine I drank along with her settles heavy in my limbs and my breathing slows as she begins the braid.

"Activities are eased along, first by gentle censers that spread a sort of drunkenness through the crowd. The heat removes clothing. If you stay by the vents, you can avoid breathing most of the Courtship smoke, for a time."

Her breath tickles in my ear as she pulls me against her by my hair.

"The rough sex arrives by adhesive smoke. No one escapes the rutting. No one can leave until every womb is plowed, whether they care to or not."

She nibbles on my ear lobe. I turn and push away from her, scooting away on my butt out of reach.

"Hey, stop that. I'm not like you."

Delphi looks at my feet, trying to hide flushed cheeks beneath her hair.

"Then why...?"

I look away and snatch a glass of wine from the low table. I drain it.

"I just don't want to have children."

"Is that so? Well, that is not for you to choose. You cannot change the cycles of life, little Nadiana. You cannot avoid the consequences of adulthood. Not by chewing the spine of the red cactus for three days following the Courtship certainly."

Placing the glass back on the table, I find the hookah still lit and draw a lungful of smoke. I hold it in until I see spots dancing before my eyes. I take my cousin's hair and raise her face to mine. Her eyes smile as I blow it into her mouth.

"Thank you for helping me to understand my unavoidable fate, dear Delphi."

Flash Fiction Challenge: Ten Words Will Give You Five

Second Chanced

I began to straighten my desk before going home when Beth tossed an envelope on my desk and tried to hustle away. 

"Hey, what's this?" The envelope was damp, and the mail arrived at our office like clockwork right after lunch. 

She turned back, puffing and pouting. Today's bedazzled shirt featured aqua and magenta dolphins. Better than the silver and gold porcupine. Randy'd told her never to wear that one again. 

"Dunno it came that way sorry." She turned again, and I let her leave this time. Not worth delaying my own escape from cubicle hell.

The envelope was heavy, textured paper a delicate cream color not typically seen by a desk monkey like myself. I was lucky to have received it at all from Beth's grabby hands. 

I looked inside and smiled. There was another envelope within, black sealing wax protecting it. I looked again at the outer one, blank but for my name in black calligraphy. 

The wax was sealed with an embellished 2 twined with a D. Driscoll hadn't lied after all. 

*** 

"I don't get it D. You've just got all the luck," I had moped, on the way to drowning my sorrows. D was paying, and damn well should. The only paid itinerant philosopher I'd ever heard of, he loved life and lived like I always wished I could. 

"Well, it isn't all luck Ray. I had to suck a lot of dick to get where I am today, you know." He slapped me on the back and guffawed. I elbowed him off. 

"I always thought we'd end up in the same place, man. How'd you fucking do it?" I slapped the table. D got all serious for a minute, looked me right in the eye. 

"Hey, if I can tell you, I will. You'll know it when it comes," he paused, and the intensity in his eyes had me biting at the bait. "But you better be ready to suck a lot of dick!"

***

I rubbed my right hand, still bruised from that outburst. 

I cracked the wax. More fine paper and black ink. A simple message, in simple script. 

The library. Midnight.

***

It could only be one library, the old neighborhood extension where D and I would be sent to return videos by our mothers. I think they hoped the books would rub smarts off on us.

I walked. Mom had died years ago, but I never escaped the neighborhood. I'd move out someday, when I got that promotion Randy had dangled to keep me on until the recession made any job a commodity in and of itself. Yeah, right. 

The library was sandwiched between a tanning joint and a cash store, both closed for the night. The area was deserted, too boring even for trouble-making kids to bother with. I settled beneath the frayed, moonlight bleached awning to wait. 

At precisely midnight, a tiny car pulled up and an elegant woman in an androgynous black suit stepped out. Her hair was pulled back tightly, and her movements were crisp as she walked up to me. She examined me toe to unkempt hair with a steady gaze, as if the shadows in which I hid had no meaning for her. A nod. 

"Did I pass?" 

Not even a flicker of a smile. 

"Raymond Claude Heller, 35 years old, mired in a dead-end job pushing papers while the life you thought you'd have drifts out of your reach." Her voice was soft, almost sweet, but I flinched at the content. "No living family, no steady girlfriends, no community ties."

I clenched and unclenched my fists as her recitation ended. She just stood there, watching me fight not to punish the messenger. So I had a shitty life, no reason to strike a lady. No reason at all.

"What you need, Ray, is a second chance. The question that I seek to answer for the sake of my employers is: would you use it well?"

I laughed. 

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

She smiled, just a small curve of the lips, and put her hand out. 

I shook hands with her. She gave a good firm handshake, not like so many women’s boneless clasp.

A rushing swelled in my ears, and the woman faded from sight. I was falling against the wall behind me as the world faded into an ethereal mist. A crystal dolphin swam through the mist in front of me, turned to pin me with one ruby eye. 

"What would you change Ray?" it asked with a voice like ocean waves inside my skull. I tried to speak, but I had no mouth, no words, so I thought. 

I’d get a life.

The dolphin shook its head at me. Fine.

I'd go to college out of state, break out of the old neighborhood. I'd make something of myself. 

The dolphin executed a loop and made as if to swim away. If it left, I'd never get my second chance, the chance to replay my life with the conviction I should have always had but just didn't. All those almosts, and might-have-beens would be in my grasp if I could just-

I thought of Jillian Forrest. She'd be the one who got away, if I’d ever had her. I'd never had the balls even to ask her out, but I heard years later that she'd have said yes. At her wake.

A new vision of my life began to grow in my mind, of me and Jillian, having children, working hard and loving each other, D, the visiting uncle my kids would love not just for the presents he brought but the love and attention he gave them, the hope that they could do whatever they dreamed when they grew up. 

The dolphin looped closer now. 

"Love?" it asked. "Is that enough?" 

Yes, I thought, and the mist began to thicken, obscuring my vision into darkness. 

End

This story is in response to the Flash Fiction Challenge on Chuck Wendig's blog, terribleminds. http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2013/03/22/flash-fiction-challenge-ten-words-will-give-you-five/

The words I ended up with were: Envelope, Dolphin, Ethereal, Library and Replay. 

Flash Fiction Challenge: Write What You Know

http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2013/02/15/flash-fiction-challenge-write-what-you-know/

Sacrifice

Mistress Rovy never stood still while giving a lesson. Active eyes, active minds, she was fond of saying, tapping a ruler against her thigh in warning to the inattentive soul. Sasha didn’t care for Mistress Rovy’s style of teaching, but no one passed into Mage-level classes without going through her.

“Creativity is the hallmark of Mages. Without it, you are nothing but a grunt, a vessel to be used for the purposes of others – whether that be entertainment or as cannon-fodder in battle. You cannot rely on the spells that everyone knows, because your enemy expects you to use the tried and true. Mages must innovate, create, and do so on the spot, in the heat of battle. Or they die.” Mistress Rovy rounded on Tricia in the front row, slamming the ruler on her desk.

“Was there something funny in what I just said?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Then why were you smiling?”

There was no good answer that Tricia could give. She may or may not have been smiling, Sasha hadn’t been looking, but to answer yes would be to admit guilt and invite punishment. To answer no would be worse, as she would be punished not only for the transgression but also for accusing Mistress Rovy of lying.

“I’m sorry Ma’am, I didn’t mean to smile.” Tricia quivered in her seat as Leonora Rovy stared at her in silence.

“You’re out,” she hissed. “Get out of my classroom and do not return.” Tricia obeyed. As the door shut behind her, her desk vanished with a muffled pop.

And then there were 13, thought Sasha. The class began every year with 30 students, but that many had never passed.

“Your assignment is to create a unique spell. Illustrate its use and mechanism, and bring it to me in 48 hours. Get out of my sight.”

They left Mistress Rovy motionless in the front of her classroom. None of them wanted to be alone with her. The rumor was the last person to be alone with her was still in the classroom, as chalk.

Sasha walked slowly back to her allotted room. A bed and a desk took up most of the space, and a large window that she couldn’t open dominated the outer wall. She didn’t think that any of them could really create a unique spell. Mages had been practicing for centuries. They’d only been practicing for 10 years, most of them.

Sasha had only been learning for five years, ever since her mother regained custody from her father. She hadn’t even known spells were real until then, but mother had somehow gotten the collegia to accept her. And somehow Mistress Rovy had allowed her to join the class. Probably thought she would be the first out.

“But I wasn’t.”

She laid herself down on the bed and began to let ideas flow, rejecting most and starting to build the kernel of an idea that consumed her for the next 40 hours. She refined it in her mind until she was satisfied.

The assignments sat in a pile on Mistress Rovy’s desk for three days without seeming to move. The students speculated that she must be looking at them, but none could produce any evidence.

“Finding and unraveling a key component of your enemies' spells will work, but it is rarely worth the time and effort it will take. I’m done with you. Sasha, stay. The rest of you, leave.”

Someone gasped. Sasha couldn’t breathe. Alone with Rovy right after the assignment. She glanced at the chalk behind Mistress Rovy and shivered.

Mistress Rovy sat down behind her desk. Sasha approached. A familiar piece of paper was in Mistress Rovy’s hand, held out to Sasha.

“I will not grade this. It is unacceptable. You have 24 hours to hand in a new one. You’re dismissed.”

“But why not?”

Mistress Rovy rose, towering over Sasha, “Human sacrifice and you ask me why not? Get out of here!”

Sasha burned inside. It wasn’t fair. The assignment was only to create a unique spell, not one following some unspoken guidelines. She’d done the assignment, so why wouldn’t Rovy at least grade it and count it? What was the problem with counting it? So it’s inappropriate. So what? 

She marched back to her room and slammed the door. She couldn’t think of something new to write, all her thoughts kept creeping back to the injustice of the whole thing. The next morning, she slap dashed out a spell that might be somewhat new and brought it with her to Rovy’s class.

“Assignment,” Rovy said to her, hand outstretched.

Sasha took out the paper and held it. The rest of the class was sitting in their seats, quiet, waiting for the day’s lesson. Sasha squared her shoulders and tore the paper in half, then half again, and again. She dropped the pieces on the floor and walked out without waiting to be dismissed.

And then there were 12, she thought.

Flash Fiction Challenge: Inspiration from Inexplicable Photos

Inspired by photo number 2 http://www.buzzfeed.com/mjs538/32-awesome-explanation-less-photos-from-russia
http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2013/02/08/flash-fiction-challenge-inspiration-from-inexplicable-photos/

Cast No Shadow

Ellen sat on a park bench, basking in the warm sunlight. She preferred first dates to be in sunlight. It was easier to see a man’s shadow that way and know right away whether she wanted any more to do with him. She smirked, watching a strait-laced looking suit walk by. His shadow crawled on a leash beside him, wearing high heels. Damn I need to get laid. Everyone’s shadow is casting sex.

She was holding a red carnation, and he was supposed to be wearing a blue shirt. Too vague really, but his picture online was a reasonably clear shot. A big teddy-bear of a guy, brown bearded with kind blue eyes. He might not be her physical type, but she needed someone normal enough to fuck, at least once, or she’d lose all ability to function.

Oh God. That’s got to be him, she thought. He cast a shadow of a petite woman, with anime boobs and ass, pointed ears and a big fluffy fox tail. Her cheeks burned as he approached with an aw-shucks smile and held out his hand. She limp fingered a hello and tried to focus on small talk, anything but looking down.

She looked past her temporary companion. There was a coffee stall set-up, the patrons all casting their sexual secrets for Ellen’s eyes in the bright sunlight. Damsel fantasy, feather whips, macho-man… Except, one wasn’t. Her heart rate sped. The man was short, maybe only a little taller than her, but other than his lack of shadow, he looked normal. Business casual. Buying a latte. Walking away. Why? Why can’t I see his secrets?

She came back every day for a week, but the skies conspired against her and with the sun covered by clouds, no one cast enough shadow. Had he had light brown hair like that guy, or was it more auburn like that one? Maybe he had only come to get coffee here once, walking on his way to somewhere else. Maybe I’ll never see him again.

The eighth day, it rained. Ellen shivered on the bench. This is stupid. This is ridiculous. I need to let this go.

The next day, she was back. The sun played tag with clouds, but she saw him. Like a fairytale, a perfect sunbeam came down to illuminate a man with dark brown hair, speckled with silver, and his perfect lack of shadow. Ellen rose from her bench and followed him to an insurance office three blocks from the park.

She crossed the street after he went in. He was chatting with the receptionist. Then he walked deeper inside where Ellen couldn’t see. Steadfast Insurance. They’ll have a website.

Eric Granger. 48 years old. Lives alone, not even a pet. An insurance agent for his entire working life. No convictions, not even parking ticket. The internet is an amazing tool.

Ellen parked her car across the street from Eric’s house. I should just knock. I should just knock and introduce myself. Or go to his office and pretend to want to buy insurance. She shook her head. There was too much to explain, too much she couldn’t say.

Her grandmother had told her, “What you will see is real, and what’s real is true, but prove it or not, they’ll hang you for a witch either way.”

Commitment to an asylum was probably more likely nowadays, but fuck that. Gran had never said anything about people without shadows. What if he’s dangerous? Or in danger? Maybe he’s sick, dying and just doesn’t have any sexual fantasies for me to see. But everyone has secrets. Everyone has fantasies.

I’ll just go knock. Just as soon as he comes home. And I’ll ask him what? This is so stupid.

The garage door of his house started to crank up. Ellen shut her car off and opened the door. She shut it again. Opened. Shut. She rubbed her hands together, but they wouldn’t warm. What do I even say to him? ‘Hi, I’m Ellen, and I was wondering why my magical abilities don’t work on you?’ Right.

His car slid inside, and the garage rumbled shut. I should just go. I should forget about this.

Her passenger side door opened and Eric slid in. Ellen froze, then shook as he pointed a gun at her.

“Why have you been following me?”

“I wanted to know something, but I don’t think I, um, really want to anymore, so I’ll just, could you please get out and I’ll just leave?”

“Are you a cop? Did you call the cops?”

“No. No, nothing like that.”

“What did you want to know?” He cocked the gun, and Ellen felt wet warmth spread on her seat.

“I can’t see your shadow and I wanted to know why.”

“Bullshit. Tell me the truth, bitch.”

“Oh God, I swear, that’s it, I’m just crazy, I’m a total wacko and I’m just hallucinating right now, so you can just go and I’ll never even remember this happened, please, just let me go.”

He chuckled and caressed the gun barrel along her neck. “I’ve never had one just come to me before. Usually I have to go shopping.”

He pulled out a syringe and popped the cap off. The needle bit her neck and she slipped away. 

Flash Fiction Challenge: Choose Your Motif

More like have your motif chosen for you...

She'll Never Be Alyssa

Jana drove right past the hitchhiker, not registering the blur of humanity until the form ran into the road behind her and frantically waved in miniature in the rear view mirror. Jana knew there were risks to picking up hitchhikers, but the drive was wearing on her nerves, the road ahead reflecting the blue sky as if it would abruptly end in a cartoon cliff. And it might, if that witch Alyssa had managed to curse her as soundly as Jana knew she could. The passenger seat could use an new occupant. Maybe then it would stop missing Alyssa, who had kept or destroyed enough of Jana's things that the remainder barely spilled over from the trunk into the back seat. Besides, it looked like the tiny figure was wearing a skirt. It wouldn't hurt to turn back and get a closer look.

It was a girl. Dirty blonde dreadlocks framed a sunburned face. Layers of gypsy skirts concealed what figure she might have, but she didn't look exactly like she'd been living hard. Rough, but not broke, not starving. Not yet.

"Where're you headed?" Jana asked, yelling over the Rush cranking out of the stereo.

"West. As far west as you're going." she smiled. "I'm Rose. Are you going to turn that down?"

"No." She got in.

***

Jana prowled back from the bathroom. Neither of them had spoken while eating. Jana hadn't eaten since she'd driven off that morning from her old place, their old place. She couldn't blame Alyssa for the mess, not after the Bethany incident, but she wasn't going to stay.

Rose was sipping her third strawberry milkshake, the only food she'd ordered. Her peeling nose reflected in the window. It was a little too large for her face, but it suited her, something off kilter in her features advertising how different she felt she was inside. She'd be easy to seduce.

Jana smiled. So few men knew how easy it really could be to seduce a woman. It's the little things really, listening attentively to what she says, angling the conversation to sex without being explicit, a certain tentativeness in your movements that invites them to be bold in the face of your shyness. Create the gap and let her think it's her own idea to fill it...

It was always easy for Jana to find a woman and seduce her. Too easy.

***

"You have potential, it needs to be trained!" Alyssa said. Another late night, another argument when Jana finally stumbled home.

"It's not a gift, I'm not like you, never will be."

"Right, because you don't even know the meaning of faithful and never will. Where have you been?"

"I've got to shower," Jana said, sidestepping Alyssa and the argument.

"You think I don't know what that means? You think I'm stupid? You are going to regret cheating on me!" Alyssa slammed the door on the way out. Jana figured she'd be back the next day. And she was, coming in while Jana was at work to destroy Jana's things and smear the walls with spell-forms and animal blood.

***

Jana slid into the cracked booth across from Rose.

"How long were you walking before I picked you up?" Jana raised her eyebrows and smiled, giving full eye contact. Hard to tell through the burn, but she might have been blushing already.

"So you've picked me up, have you?"

"Sure looks that way." Jana leaned back, and grinned inside when Rose leaned forward sliding the parfait glass to one side.

"Three hours, give or take."

"I favor giving, myself." This time she slid a hand across the plastic coated table to come within inches of caressing Rose's arm. "I'm about done driving for the night."

"Then we should get a room. It's not safe to drive when you're tired." Rose smiled as she reached out and took Jana's hand. Yes, dear Rose, it was all your idea.

***

Rose took her satchel into the motel room as Jana held the door. The air inside was warm and stuffy, smelling of dust and disinfectant. No TV, just a mirror, cracked in one corner, across from the room's only bed. Rose went directly to the closet of a bathroom and began to run the sink. Jana dropped her purse on the shallow dresser and stood watching Rose's bend over to wash her face. Wide hips. Nice.

Rose sat on the bed and looked at Jana. Hope, and a little fear of rejection were quenched when Jana began to take off her clothes, going down to underwear before stepping in between Rose's legs, cupping her head for a kiss with one hand as the other slid to discover what she was hiding under that shirt.

***

Jana woke from a restless sleep as the room grew light. She sat up in slow stages, not wanting to disturb Rose's satisfied snores. In the mirror, Rose looked like Nadezda, like Annie, like Kendra and Susan and Bethany and even a bit like James, that one time. The Jana in the mirror looked disappointed, a new feeling for her the morning after a fresh conquest. Neither of them looked like Alyssa, with her moonstone eyes and spiky black hair.

Bloody words came into focus in the mirror. You'll always want me. Just like the ones scrawled on the wall above the bed Jana had shared with Alyssa for a record thirteen months. Damn her.

***

Jana stared at the road unfolding before her, the sky swallowing up the asphalt in a glimmer of blue. She glanced at the empty passenger seat, still missing Alyssa's curves in its worn leather. It would never feel them again. Jana would never feel them again.

"And I don't want to. I don't."

END

Motif: Mirrors
Subgenre: Erotic Fantasy
Setting: Route 66