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Story Twenty Eight – Revolution


… Ok, what the holy hell? Seriously? METAPHOR?! NO ONE GETS METAPHOR ANYMORE!

Speaking without words had become more than second nature.

What do you mean, experiments?

The creature in the containment tube twitched. God brought it to a large table and laid it down lengthways so the tops of the cylinder were visible. Through the flat discs, I saw it move. It tried to breathe but sputtered on the clear inspissation. The gel, meant to hold it in safety, was choking the thing. God’s thoughts touched some activator and the glass-structure fell away.

The organism wasn’t overtly strange. It was built in practically the same way as my previous people, two legs, two arms, one head. The skin was unique. It was the color of the sands below the plateau cities. Two eyes perched above a vertical and protruding nose with only two nostrils. It was stuck between sleep and the waking world, unaware of us but fully capable of speech. Mumbles in an alien language erupted arbitrarily. Read the rest of this entry

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Twenty Seven – Imminution


OHHHH, I get it… sort of… wait, what?

I couldn’t speak, not like I once had. However long it was, however long I had been in the company of the creature which was most definitely not a god but could only be described as our Lord, it had been long enough for my lips to fuse in a strange evolutionary adaption. My jaw cemented to the sockets below my cheek bones. I had chosen to focus almost solely on the symbols introduced to me by the Chancellors. It was my choice, my preference to speak with the markings, transcending sounds, exporting communication through the air and showing my meaning via images pushed to the other’s mind. That conscious path sent me into this change. I worried about hunger and the need for air. I sent the question to the Lord but it was dismissed as ridiculous. I was told there were other ways to get nutrients. I wasn’t exactly excited to discover them.

When I felt this, the stiffening of my mandible, I quickly realized the cause. Before my audience with this Lord came to happen, I would never have conceptualized it. The connection between cause and effect would have been wanting. I only knew the correlation because of what I had been taught when I didn’t know I was learning. Whatever I did, whatever pattern I followed, my body would alter to facilitate it. I began to move in exaggerations of normal actions. I exercised every aspect of myself. Physical and mental prowess grew. I grew. I was never questioned by God on why. He knew. Read the rest of this entry

Story Twenty Six – Convolution


Days did not exist, nights never were, life was a belief of the living and some colors, though seen by our eyes, were only figments of our collective imagination. God had been right in telling me that my adaption to this so-called true reality would be painful. It was a marathon, an unstopping, unrelenting barrage of concepts so foreign to my view that I immediately repelled them. I fought back because they weren’t real, they couldn’t be. I argued against what the Lord was trying to show me. I rejected the absoluteness and finality of his conviction in it. I couldn’t push the words anymore, couldn’t carve the markings back in the mountainous slate of God’s consciousness. I had to speak.

“God, this cannot be real. I see things to the contrary, I know things that tell me that what you are showing me isn’t possible.”

The flashes in my mind stopped. They were replaced with the familiar symbols of his ‘voice’, so much more elegant than I could accomplish.

Why do you call me ‘God’? Read the rest of this entry

Story Twenty Four – Luminous


ok… There are some deaths in this one, but I have no idea where Aaron is going with it… Frankly, I’m worried for his sanity.

When young, all North City dwellers learned of the history of our world. It was required schooling. From the first days we can fully understand speech rooms of children stood at attention of the storytellers who teach the past. Each day, the legacies became increasingly more difficult. Through this discourse we learned how to live, we learned what was expected and how to worship. Read the rest of this entry

Story Twenty Three – A Strange Lord


I hope Aaron knows what he’s doing… I don’t see a death in here at all…
WAIT, wait…
No, false alarm, she lived. What the hell, man?

I didn’t know what to expect when god asked for my presence. I knew that I wasn’t prepared to be his prisoner. I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel the metal bands cutting into my wrists. The guards pushed me along the corridor at the end of their spears. They weren’t bladed, at the end of the shafts were faceted gems. Heat from the crystals radiated into my shoulder. Though I knew they were weapons, they brought a comfort. The energies soothed the bruise given to me by the priest the day before.

The building had been glorious. It was massive, even when viewed next to the four plateau cities encircling it. From the sky, from the golden air ship I had only heard described in stories, the jutting structure looked less like architecture. The spires weren’t ornate. They were gray, with small doors and cables spaced at uneven intervals. There was a slight tilt to every part. I assumed the ship was leaning, but I continued to watch. We circled around on our path to the large landing area facing the south city, my own home’s antecedent neighbor. As we moved, I could see no change in the monolith home of our lord. It was imperfect. Read the rest of this entry

Story Twenty One – Le Fin


It’s not what you think… It never is…

I sat in my chair and closed my eyes. The numbers didn’t lie. It was going to be today. It was going to be in just a few hours. That was how exact the book was. It wasn’t a matter of faith. I simply knew. I’d known for a while. When I discovered the pattern, everything made sense. All the stories contained within the pages, all the great messages and teachings we needed to know.

I had spread the word as I knew he wanted me to do. I spoke the ancient words and cast out the pamphlets. Our trucks were covered in the teachings. It was coming soon. We would all be saved, all of us who believed in him. And believe we did. Read the rest of this entry

Story Twenty – The Madam


The conclusion to ‘Madam Delaunney’s Inn’… which is the name that Aaron finally decided up for this miniseries.

There’s nothing kind about this world. It doesn’t matter where you go or who you know, you have to live for whatever you can find. For a long time, I lived for my husband. He was a fine man. He loved me, he loved life, he loved what he did. He owned a mine and that underground business spawned a town that took his name, Gilbert.

I didn’t care what he did. It was who he was that brought me to him, not his career and not his fortune. I saw him on the street that dark April morning in London. He was different than the other proper men. He had a suit but the legs were muddied with his running through the puddles. He had money, but it was constantly being given away to anyone he thought needed it more than him. The moment a young girl tugged on his jacket tail and gave him a little yellow paper flower and he took it with a kiss on her cheek and a pat on her head, I knew I wanted him. I knew he’d been the one I was waiting for.

I left my sister in the shop and took to following him. I wanted to know more about him. I wanted to speak to him, to smile at him. I’d been waiting longer than he’d probably believe for someone with his heart. My mind made no try at masking my intentions. I didn’t want to simply talk to him or let him take my hand. I was going to claim him as mine. Read the rest of this entry

Story Nineteen – The Sheriff


The story continues. Why did Babette scream? What happened during the mysterious murders? Why am I speaking like an old soap opera narrator? Find out all this and less from the perspective of Gilbert Mines’ sheriff!

Nobody never saw much of me. I’d heard tell of some lawmen ‘cross the states, pride and joys of their towns. They’d patrol the streets in broad daylight, ridin’ top a great stallion, two six guns at their side and a long rifle in their pack. They was showmen. Least that’s what they’d have in the travelin’ shows. That’s what I heard was in them books people was readin’ out east. We’d have tourists comin’ in and asking for the sheriff during the day. My deputy’d have to tell them to come back after dusk.

Nothing ever happened in Gilbert Mines during the day. Even the accidents had been at night, each time under the biggest and brightest full moon you could see. I found that sleeping in spit of the son and haulin’ my tired behind in at nightfall was the only way I could keep going from dusk to dawn. I was never needed before that, or after. And, even then, the calls for my actions were few and far between. Of course, when they did come, they were dire. There’d been three or four brawls over the last month. First one ended in a young man’s death. He’d been beaten to within an inch of his life and just couldn’t climb a safe distance back. I couldn’t count the murders. They’d happened between a patrol. I heard the screams and the… whatever that other sound could have been… and I came runnin’. I grabbed my rifle first. I followed the sounds, no screamin’ then, just an animal eatin’ whatever it’d caught. Led me straight outside the inn.

Yeah, I saw it. Swear to all things holy, it was a strange type a bear I’d never seen before. I got a few shots off. Hit it’s side twice, then it got outta range right quick almost as if it knew that’s where the danger lessened. It headed out to the old mines. I know I hit it twice, both bullets landing not two inches from each other. You never forget a night like that. The littlest details stick for the longest time. Read the rest of this entry

Story Seventeen – The Writer


First in a four part short story series called ‘The Writer, The Girl, The Sheriff and Madam Delaunney”… perhaps Aaron may think to rename the series ‘Moon and Stars’.


“Watch yur step, Mr. Terrence, tha carr’age’s got icy”

Mr. Herrison, the coachman continued to attempt the charade at calling his coffin-on-wheels a ‘carriage’. I didn’t have the heart to remind him that carriages have seats, not planks of wood tethered to the ceiling with a thin twine prone to snapping under a poor writer’s practically nonexistent weight.

He was rather infallible about the weather, though. Before leaving, I had remarked on the need for sun and dry air. The east coast is a strange hell of flurries and sharp ocean gusts. I wanted warmth and prairies. Apparently, my research on the destination was poorly done. The papers and stories told me of a dusty, arid, sweltering California. They said nothing of how long the territory ran or how far north it’s highest reaches rested.

Nah, Mr. Terrence, things get mighty cold in Gilbert Mines. ’Specially in Jan’yary.

Then why the hell are we going there? Read the rest of this entry

Story Sixteen – Age of Insanity


This one might spark a discussion. Just remember, never make them eat their vegetables… Seriously, just don’t do it. THIS WILL HAPPEN!


“Five days ago, in response to a video now banned in most of the world, an estimated seventy five million people brought horrible and swift violence to the streets across this nation.”

The news anchor’s sullen voice marched through the silent basement. I was lucky to have turned the volume up when I noticed the blank screen replaced with the digital signal. Keeping the TV on was an accident, more of an oversight. I didn’t care to imagine what caused the owners of the house to leave without shutting everything off. I knew why it happened. I knew what happened and I didn’t want to see it in my mind.

The sofa that had been my bed for the last three nights cast a flickering shadow against the small, high, ground-level windows. I drew their shades. Not wanting to take any more chances, I put some spare cardboard boxes against them to block the light. I did all of this to the continuing voice of the softly speaking man on the television.

“Officials have yet to confirm the supposed facts discussed in the video, which became an internet sensation, literally, overnight. But the fact seems clear that whether the entirety was true or not, Dr. Herman Teichmann’s speech effectively predicted the days following the upload. In a twist of fate, Dr. Teichmann, himself, was the first high profile victim of the phenomena when a large group of organized assailants invaded his home and that of his house keeper.” Read the rest of this entry