The Pieces Left Her Body

    Like most people I think it’s easiest to forget the pain if I keep my head down and blinders on. Stay busy, stay sharp and keep distracted. If I keep myself overwhelmed, forever struggling to keep my head above water, I may not have to deal with the guilt head on. I won’t have to think about the suffering I caused her, or rather, the suffering I should have prevented.
    It’s the quiet moments that I’m learning to hate. In the positive space between distractions something will catch my attention, some sound or smell, and I’m brought back to the night it all began. Like a fender-bender, bang, I’m jolted back to the night Beth became something else, something other than my wife, and everything changed.

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Sun Chang Happy Fortune

    My boss takes a bubbling sip from his caramel latte and steam from the drink fogs his glasses. His lips are wet and pouting, his eyes are weak and watery. They don’t match the power he’s struggling to project from behind his desk, a giant oak sonofabitch that’s been in his family for generations.

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Ozymandias

    “Tamerlane online,” said Dr. Chang. A cascade of lights illuminated the control deck and washed over her. “Cortez and Tecumseh saw a 17 percent drop in power but they seem to be stabilizing.” She cracked her knuckles and leaned over the array of controls to view the drone in its launch silo as it ran through systems diagnostics; gouts of steam rolling from exhaust vents and the flicker of external cameras acknowledging its environment. To either side of Tamerlane’s silo his fellow drones creaked and settled into Awareness State. The thrum of their drives could be felt through the concrete walls but, from the insulated Operations room, they were silent. In the silo great slabs of armor would be screeching, slowly dragging against one another, and the drone’s generators would be roaring to life at deafening levels.

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A Frittata Lost and a Hero Found

    The tremor began slowly, the low subconscious rumble of the subway underfoot, and intensified until the pigeons scattered and a wide split opened in the sidewalk, a ragged concrete maw, swallowing a young couple who had been flirting over their mimosas. My plate skittered off the table spilling my lunch across the sidewalk with a wet slap. The laptop and café au lait followed. I’m not a psychic but I knew this wasn’t going to end well.
    A metallic voice, distorted by rage and amplified, electronic modulation echoed in the canyon of the financial district. “GIVE ME THE SOULSTONE, BILLY WEATHERS! YOU ARE THE HOST NO MORE!”

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When Summoned

Charlie paused, silhouetted in the doorway, and slapped dust from his leathers while his eyes adjusted to the gloom. A window overlooked the mud of Main Street but the glass had long been stained by grime that choked every feeble mote of light. The Law Office of Martin Banks Esq. was painted on the window in gold script and the lettering was chipped and fading. Like everything in Cherry Cove it was worn and in a state of advanced disrepair.

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