2/1/2024
White rabbit.
Currently living in a winter rental over in Seaside Park with my sister's father-in-law. Life seems alright at the moment and I only have minor echoes of my prior living situation. On Saturday the 13th Leah came with me to Jackson for moral support while I finished packing up my stuff. We were there for about an hour. Next day a co-worker, my sister, my nephew, and Elbie helped me move out of Jackson altogether. Took just ninety minutes.
On the 20th I sent a letter by certified mail and return receipt requested to the former landlord containing the keys to Jackson along with directions to mail my security deposit to my sister's address. My sister texted me to let me know the receipt was received on the 31st.
Hoping this will be over soon and I can really move forward with life.
I start school on the 5th.
A bit anxious about the future. I haven't touched my draft of Truth and Death in quite some time and I need to get back to revising it again. Mastodon has been my little writing outlet using the Wandering Shop Stories where a word as a writing prompt is posted once a day. Some of my stories are long, some are short.
violence in a peaceful galaxy
Asking only spaceman's wages, a capsule and oxygen, I came to Red Star station looking for a job, just I get no offers just aliens offering to get me to live like a king for a day then being butchered then sold and served in one of the zócalo's stalls. One of those offers came from a Michelin-starred chef, a native of Tau Ceti.
I stood outside of an airlock in engineering contemplating my existence, how it'd be simpler to watch my breath crystallize before my eyes, to asphyxiate in the void and my mummified corpse to orbit Canopus in ignominy. That was when (whistle,tweet,click,tweet) knocked on my helmet.
"Being human you, yes?" The (whistle,tweet,click,tweet) looked like a two-meter tall, eight-legged cat with fur redder than Tharsis at sunrise. "Warlike pariah race your origin, yes?" For a (whistle,tweet,click,tweet) e spoke Basic well.
E was right, tea bee aitch, and humanity fell into a malaise realizing for all our fears of encountering Klingons in the deepest void, turns out humans ARE the Klingons. If not worse. Some self-satisfied purple bush with a thousand eyes admonished me once at Sparky's in the zócalo.
"Your deity came to save you and you nailed your deity to a tree. You commit genocide among your species. You use atomics against your species on your homeworld. You drowned your shorelines." It just went on and on, following me as I tried to walk away. If anything those little Arguses are persistent and incomprehensible. I still hear its admonition, "Leave here, monkey and don't come back until you are extinct." On the bright side nobody besides humans were a danger on the station.
With resignation, "Want to rub it in too?" (whistle,tweet,click,tweet) raised eir forepaws and lashed eir tail. "No, human. I have work." E went on to explain the highly-illegal fighting ring in the lower decks. E wanted a #boxer to face off with some radially-symmetric sophont who is the reigning champion. Moreso e wanted a human to strike fear in everyone and Purple-Red-Yellow-Red.
"Got nothing to lose anyhow." (whistle,tweet,click,tweet) tick-tacked on the deck, "Not lose, you will. Guarantee give you."
Citizen Monroe clomped downstairs, station relative, with (whistle,tweet,click,tweet) close behind..He was concerned by the adjectives used to describe his opponent.
"Ruthless."
"Brutal."
"Cruel."
Never did Citizen Monroe think such entities would be allowed in the Community, but Purple-Red-Yellow-Red was feared by all.
After some unexpected turns and crawling through a Brewer tube, the pair heard a ravening crowd shouting for violence. Blood. Death.
"Whoa, this IS illegal." Miles thought considering the dyed-in-the-wool pacifism among the Communal Worlds.
As history goes, going back 5,000 earth years each species was warlike and honed their talents until wars became ridiculously short and brutal. Species A and B throw down a gauntlet or whatever, initiate conflict, a homeworld would be destroyed through sheer luck, followed by mopping up extant colonies. Carnage on a cosmic scale in the span of 8 Earth days.
Soon there were just 12 spacefaring races left out of 108 and someone called a truce. The community was established, and war was abolished leaving only peace with the altruistic aim to minimize entropy. An enduring peace foisted on new species stepping out among the stars.
Behind the crowd's cries were sounds of pain, metal, and curses. (whistle,tweet,click,tweet) chattered, "Face you to Tail-Too-Long. Heavyworlder. Strongbig. Human you. Terror and tactics dangerous you are."
The gate opened to (whistle,tweet,click,tweet)'s code. Miles could not believe the sight before him.
A gray blob was wired up to the station's net while a two headed Herp in an encounter suit jostled a tiny controller in eir manipulator. One head stared at a screen while the other burped insults at their opponent.
Onscreen was an ancient Earth game with terrible graphics. Not even 3D. No neural interfaces.
(whistle,tweet,click,tweet) bobbed on eir eight legs, red eyes flashing, "Street Fighter Two. This you know game, yes?"
Inspiration for this came from that day's writing prompt of "boxer". I immediately heard Simon & Garfunkel's The Boxer in my head. Then I ran with this idea from the seat of my pants.
ogre at a diner
The ogre in the diner wore his mien. It was not too different from his true visage but less unsettling. He left Arcadia for the boring real world bereft of glamour and wonder. Rather he found comfort in supermarkets, sitcoms, and smartphones.
A young family came in and he smelled the kids before he saw them, shovelling steak and eggs like mad to quell the stirred hunger, waving down the waitress for more.
"Oh no..." he grunted as the trio were seated near him. The kid couldn't stop staring even as Mom gave him the typical, "Don't stare. It's rude."
Little kids always see the truth and a nine foot tall ogre with corpse gray skin, a vicious underbite, and pointy ears were reason enough to stare in horror and fascination. While Mom and Dad talked about how they can't afford all their groceries, the kid leaned and whispered, "I see you."
With a mouth full of hot rye toast, the ogre spluttered, "And I see you too, little morsel" but used his liar's contract so everyone else just heard, "Heya sport!"
Wails filled the dining room as embarassed parents tried to wrangle their own monster while apologizing to the big 'nice' man.
"Oh it's okay. I like kids." quietly thinking "basted and roasted".
The ogre gasped, dropped his silverware, got up and left a 50 on the table before lumbering out.
Behind the diner he sighed heavily, "You can take the fairy out of the summerlands but you can't take the summerlands out of the fairy."
I had breakfast at the Bandwagon Diner. A guy came in with his two kids and one kept looking at me, but I ignored it. To ensure my distraction I wrote this piece. I like it even though it's derivative of Changeling: The Lost.
