Monthly Archives: April 2013

Recent Developments

Image <-Source

This last week I have the wonderful pleasure of passing not one but two kidney stones. These are the third and fourth ones I have ever passed in my life and hopefully the last. Time will tell.

So… what does this have to do with writing? Unless you are a robot most things that your characters go through originate from something of personal experience. Maybe an argument translates into a space battle or a tough day in traffic changes into navigating a political minefield but whatever it may be the inspiration comes from daily life.

What have I learned in these last excruciating days? 

Pain, avoidance, and the unexpected repercussions.

I don’t know what you have heard in the past but kidney stones are very painful. In fact, women who have given birth actually say that passing a kidney stone hurts more than labor. I’ve never given birth so I can’t really say how truthful that statement is but it is has been the most painful experience of my life. The doctors always ask on a scale of 1 to 10, this was a 10 and then the day after a steady 7 feels wonderful.

Pain is often overlooked in fiction, especially in action or adventure stories and I can understand why, no one wants to read about how the hero wallowed around and then got captured. Plus adrenaline is an amazing thing, hearing my little one crying while I was half-awake sent me into super-daddy mode and the pain was momentarily forgotten to rush downstairs to comfort my baby. About half-way down my wife informed me all was well and I was faced with the sudden unfathomable depth of fatigue as the rush ended. Boy, did that suck.

In my life I’ve jumped from runaway motorcycles, crashed an ATV so bad I broke, a helmet, and have dangled over a cliff while wondering if the rocks below were sharp enough to break my skin. As oddly as it sounds these moments were pretty much laughed off since I was with my friends and at the wonderful age where mortality is something old people think about.

Now I know pain, I know how it feels to hall your aching muscles up from the ground and push onward through a haze of mind-numbing medication to rescue that one you love. I also know how the crash feels afterwards, the sudden and all-encompassing resurgence of every over taxed inch of protesting muscle.

Pretty good if I say so myself.


Leave a comment

Filed under Rant, Writing

Writing Exercise #2: Shadowrun Part 3- A Note

Sorry it took so long to update, I was out due to illness.

Leave a comment

Filed under Science Fiction, Short Fiction, Writing

Writing Exercise #2: Shadowrun Part 3- End

Hale zipped through a small gap between two of the trailing trolls in the biker gang. Their shouted insults weren’t worth listening too but the extra bit of speed they put on meant they weren’t exactly happy with her showboating.

The hammer-top luxury car roared loud enough for her to hear over the sound of the road. It rusted forward, trying to make up for the ground it had lost with her unexpected jaunt onto the interstate. Currently the Spikes were unintentionally playing buffer and they were more interested in yelling at her than distracting the mobsters.

She grinned under her helmet and slowed just enough to let the lead troll catch up with her.

“You should show me some respect or my boyfriend will show you trogs how to act around your betters,” she yelled and pointed back to the car.

For a moment she was worried she had overplayed her hand but the troll pulled out a wicked looking knife, waved it at the four other bikers in his crew, and pointed it at the car. The knife wielder pointed the curved blade at her and smiled before sending the gnarled length of metal straight toward the oncoming car. Hale let out an appreciative whistle as the knife wedged itself into the windshield with hardly any resistance.

In a flash the passenger-side window slid open and a gangster brandishing a chrome-plated machine-pistol popped out. He took a moment to adjust the sunglasses he was wearing before letting loose a strand of fire. One of the bikers swerved as his rear wheel popped and the other turned their full attention on the attacking car rather than the annoying showoff.

With the Spikes running interference and the Koreans thoroughly distracted, Hale pushed her bike faster weaving in and out of traffic to make sure she had truly lost the tail. She skidded down an exit, using the curve to save on her brakes, and easily reconnected with the preprogrammed route. Even with losing the thugs breathing down her neck she didn’t know how long her lead would last. A new surge of adrenaline surged through her veins as the thought of more interference. Doubling Manny’s cut would only lessen the payday by a grand leaving fourteen thousand left over. If she survived she would put that money to good use.

The road slimmed down to a single lane of traffic and headed toward the outskirts of the city. Buildings dropped down to two floors or less and the lots widened out for fenced in loading areas for warehouses instead of office complexes and economy housing. Her destination was an unmarked cement slab of a warehouse surrounded by a twelve-foot barrier with a single point of entry.

Hale rolled to a stop by the intercom and pressed the button, “delivery.”

The only answer was a dull buzz and the section of barrier in front of her began to slide open. For a moment she considered loading another three rounds into her revolver but she doubted six bullets would really do much of a dent in whatever was waiting ahead. The gentle purr of Manny’s bike a few blocks away made her breath easier; at least she had some backup.

She led the bike through and parked it before setting the alarm out of habit. Judging from the scrambling equipment Ms. Johnson had last time Hale didn’t bother keeping her helmet on. She unzipped her jacket and removed the package as she walked toward the lone door marking the slab. It opened as she neared, an orc dressed in an expertly tailored suit waited to on the other side. Without a word he turned and began to lead her down a darkened hallway. The lights switched on before they entered the area of illumination and back off once they were out of it. Whoever Ms. Johnson was working for didn’t mind showing off on the little things.

After a few turns she was sure were just made to disorient her, the orc led her into a small open-air office where her client and one other waited. The man was of Asian descent and wore a simple yet elegant two-piece gray suit; his skin had the flawless sheen gene-treatment awarded but his eyes spoke an age much more than the thirty-something he looked. Currently those untrusting orbs were settled on Hale with an intensity that would certainly bore through her if they could.

“Right on time,” Ms. Johnson smiled at Hale and held out a hand for the package.

Hale handed her the cylinder and accepted the cred-stick that had materialized in the clients other hand. Not wanting to spend another moment in the room than she needed to she bowed respectfully to the man, nodded to Ms. Johnson, and turned to the orc before walking passed him back into the hallway. Briskly she took the three left-turns and one right back to the door, a good sense of direction was the first thing a currier needed.

Once outside she plugged the cred-stick into the port casually poking out from an inside pocket which verified the credits and sent them to predetermined accounts. The extra five hundred she owed Manny would be a simple transfer once she got to a terminal but for now everything was in order.

“Heads up,” Manny whispered in her ear.

Hale rushed to her bike, popped open the chamber of her revolved and loaded in three fresh shells as quickly as she could. She snapped it closed and brought it up just as the barrier opened fully to allow the hammer-top luxury car to coast into the parking lot. The immaculate paint job and armored windows had been given a rough treatment, the passenger side of the windshield was missing, both front tires were flat, and the engine block was smoking. Hale lowered the gun back into the holster as the car parked a few spots away and two haggard Korean men stepped out. They didn’t spare her even a sidelong glance as they walked up to the lone door and waited.

The trip back to office was a blur but she made sure Manny got the extra she had promised.


Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Writing Exercise: Shadowrun Part 2

Hale pulled her new bike into the parking lot and clicked the security as she dismounted. She had paid two thousand on her hand, another grand split between rent and a little kickback to keep Woods happy, two more as a down payment on a new bike, five hundred creds to Manny like she promised, and another five hundred to update her gear. She wasn’t exactly sure if the client intended to pay her at the end of the run let alone if she was walking out of this alive but that wasn’t new when accepting a job.

The address was a multilevel office complex stretching upwards of fifty stories with at least two businesses to each floor. These companies were all subsidiaries of one megacorporation just removed enough to claim they weren’t but close enough for all intellectual ownership and overall control. It was a nice little trick that everyone did that no one admitted.

She kept her helmet on as she walked through the semi-glossed doors and up to the security checkpoint. The guards had a Knight Errant logo on their shoulders with a smaller patch to denote the local unit which meant most likely she was dealing with Ares in some shape or form if she traced it back far enough. That would explain the tech that scrambled her glasses two days ago and the easy access to large funds. The new knowledge didn’t ease the nerves or a make it any easier to remove her helmet and raise her arms to allow the guard to scan her for weapons or restricted tech. She preferred to go old fashioned so her red leather jacket was expertly patched, lined with new lightweight armor, and her revolver was holstered in the locked panel on her bike. Right now she was practically weaponless, aside from the eight ounces per glove of steel shot sewn into the knuckle area of her black leather gloves, it was a calculated risk but she doubted anyone would be so brazen as to attack her before she got the package. The fact that Manny was covering her from a block over helped considering she still had to walk out of the building and to her bike to start the journey.

He had raised an eyebrow at her new bike but she had pointed out that it was used and didn’t have all the shinies people loved these days. Compared to the other models available she was riding blind. Of course choosing to stick with a low-end motorcycle had more than one motivation, the first being that it was cheaper and the second being that it gave her an excuse to wear protective gear without raising eyebrows. It was easier to add or replace existing supports rather than completely building them into clothing which had no prior reason for it.

The guard finished the pat-down and waved her onward through a scanner. Hale held her helmet under her arm and walked over to the reception desk. A woman sitting ramrod straight with one hand absently tapping on a screen while the other was doubtlessly under the desk resting on a panic button looked up at her expectantly.

“Pick up,” Hale stated simply.

The receptionist nodded and pulled a small white tube about three inches in diameter and half a foot long from a drawer without stopping her tapping fingers. She placed the cylinder on the desk, lifted up a shipping invoice which was already filled out for Hale to mock-sign and then slipped the form into a scanner which compiled the document and shredded it at the same time.

“Have a nice day,” the receptionist smiled and went back to looking at her screen.

Hale tucked the package on a strap inside her jacket usually reserved for knives, batons, or heavier ordinance and returned the smile before securing her helmet. The guard didn’t bother to look at her as she walked back through the security station and out the door.

A message beeped once she was outside. It was the address from Minder. She tapped on the side of her helmet initiating the connection to her phone and dialed Manny.

“I’ve got the package,” she strolled over to her bike, clicking off the security features and straddled the seat. “It’s got a tracker or I’m being watched, sending you Point B now.”

She sent the address and cut the connection. Manny may be a tech-addicted space cadet but he knew how to ride shotgun. The engine purred to life, she took a moment to enjoy the difference a few thousand could buy before flipping the stand into position and pushing off. She was half a block down the road when a dark luxury car the shape of the head of a sledge hammer rocketed past her and screeched to a stop on the sidewalk in front of the building she had just left.

Three Asian men in almost matching cheap off-gray two-piece suits emerged from the car with weapons drawn. They rushed through the doors, hardly stopping to open it before letting loose a flood of bullets.

“Manny,” she waited a beat for the connection. “We’ve got some serious heat coming down. Three mafia types just shot up the lobby.”

“Do you have any idea which family we’re dealing with?”

“Asian,” she put on some speed to get some breathing room. “Not nearly dressed well enough to be Yakuza and just sane enough to rule out Triad.” The latch on the holster next to her left knee was smooth and took a kiss of pressure to release. She kept her hand resting on it just in case. “That only leaves the Koreans.”

“Not good,” the sound of his voice was mixed with the sound of gunfire. “I knew they were desperate but this is bad even for them.”

Her cybernetic hand held the bike steady with hardly any effort as she snuck a look over her shoulder. Whatever Miss Johnson was into was starting to look worth a lot more than twenty thousand. The Koreans were losing their footing in the city while the Yakuza was entrenched with the mega corporations and the Triad was a certain kind of crazy that was harder to kill than a cockroach.

The HUD on her visor popped up a calculated route to her destination using public access traffic monitors provided for the Metro Transit Company to avoid hot-spots of gang activity. Woods had a contact in a local office that shared the password for a price per access, it was well spent. She hoped that with a bit of space and a head start they wouldn’t notice her.

That little glimmer was snuffed out as one of the toughs burst from the building and pointed right at her. She couldn’t hear what he was yelling but whatever it was summoned another hammer shaped car to screech around a corner to start pursuit.

She snapped the revolver out of the holster and leaned back, firing off three quick rounds into the windshield but a small trio of cracks was her only reward for the efforts.

“Of course,” she turned her attention back to driving and pushed the bike faster.

The down payment on the new bike, her wardrobe, and bills had make getting a new gun something she would have to wait on. Right now she didn’t think that the Ares Crusader would have put a dent in the armored car. Her best bet was to run hard. Luckily the only gunfire on the road so far was hers, the package must be important.

A tight smile crossed her face as an idea bloomed. The map was still up, showing the best way to avoid gang activity in the area, right now a little more activity was something she needed.

“The car’s armored but I’ve got a plan,” she took a tight turn onto an on-ramp hitting the interstate going eighty.

“What are you doing?” Manny called back. “This is the Spike’s territory, those trogs hate smooth-skins like us.”

“We’re all smoothies, Manny,” she chuckled. “And my baby here can outrun any Harley.”

“Hale,” his voice vibrated as he took the on-ramp. “Five hundred is stretching kind of thin.”

“If we survive, I’ll double it.”


Leave a comment

Filed under Science Fiction, Short Fiction, Writing

Writing Exercise #2: Shadowrun

From Point A to B – Part 1

Hale tapped the newly fitted fingers on her cybernetic right hand and waited for the Johnson to show up. Her decker friend Minder had setup the meet ,writing off her usual cut of the profits since the last job had resulted in Hale losing a hand.

The Starbucks on Broadway was nestled between a steakhouse and a sandwich shop. She was dressed in her best trying to fit in with the crowd but from the way the other patrons and baristas stole glances at her she might as well had SINless tattooed across her forehead. It could have been the fact that her Sunday best was a pair of tailored cargo pants she had picked up at a military surplus shop with a patched red leather jacket that was a size too large or that she was sipping complimentary water in the cup of shame instead of the bottled stuff. Either way her back was against the wall, literally, and her chair was angled to keep the two entrances in sight. There was no such thing as a safe area for a runner.

She fought back a sigh as a woman dressed in pure black with large dark sunglasses and a fake white wig paused in the doorway. Minder had said it was a milk run, something nice and easy to make amends but had failed to mention the client was a moron. The woman finally found her as she ‘covertly’ scanned the crowd and did her best sneaky walk over to the small table. If she used an accent Hale was going to send Minder a three hour block of The Hamster Dance.

“Are you a friend of Minder?” The woman restlessly stood by the open chair but had yet to sit.

“Sit, Miss Johnson,” Hale pushed the chair out with her boot.

“My name is-”

Hale held up a hand, “not my business.”

A look of confusion slowly was replaced with realization and the client smiled.

“Please, sit,” she repeated.

Miss Johnson sat and looked surreptitiously over her left shoulder then her right before speaking not realizing everyone was already looking at them, “I’m new to this.”

“Don’t worry,” Hale winked. “I’m not. What’s the job?”

“In two days I need you to pick up a package from this address,” she pulled a napkin from her pocket and slid it across the table. “Then deliver it to me at the address Minder will provide you.”

Hale took the napkin without looking at it and put it in the inside pocket of her jacket. She took a moment to take a drink from her free water to give her an excuse for silence. If she bought into the entire act, the bumbling woman tip-toeing into the shadows, this really was a milk run. The soft sound of her hand whirring made her realize that even if there was something deeper to this run she couldn’t pass it up, good cybernetics didn’t come cheap.

“How much?”

“Twenty thousand,” Miss Johnson nodded firmly.

After a moment of silence she held out a cred-stick, “five now, fifteen on delivery.”

“I’ll see you in two days,” Hale took the proffered payment and slid on her own pair of sunglasses before standing up and walking out of the coffee shop.

Her steady strides hid the nerves that were creeping up on her as she walked to the nearby parking lot. She had to sell her car to make the needed payment on her hand but one of her associates had lent her an old motorcycle. It was converted from an internal combustion engine to an early electronic motor but it didn’t go over forty miles an hour and desperately needed new tires along with a full overhaul. The only good thing about it was that it was so bad that no one even thought to steal it. On top of that it came with an old fashion set of saddlebag that looked kind of cool but couldn’t keep out a soft breeze let alone a half awake thief.

She unlatched the saddlebag to find her helmet and safety gear waiting for her. In this neighborhood no one would even look at them, even someone interested in easy loot wouldn’t bother with so many other targets around. If someone had taken a look at the elbow and knee pads they would have found them to be mundane safety gear without any frills or enhancements. They were cheap, effective, and easily replaceable, the same as the red helmet. The only extras it had were a custom fit chin strap and a yellow tinted visor. Being so cheap no one wanted it was something of a practiced anti-theft device she had worked out over the years.

Hale had a staging area on the corner of Second Street and Avenue C in Snohomish in what used to be a strip of stores about eight miles away. After the Awakening it had become something of a squatter’s paradise. The stores had been cleared out in the riots and now the space had been repurposed as a honeycomb of office space ranging from dentistry and Indian food to currier services such as the one Hale worked at.

She latched the chinstrap and closed the faceplate. While her look and supplies was carefully constructed to avoid loss through disinterest there were three things that were worth more than the bike and outfit combined. The first was the old-fashioned snub-nosed thirty-eight revolver in the shoulder holster under her jacket, the second was the custom made set of three thin blades strapped to her left thigh accessible from the faux-pocket, and the third was the personal computer complete with camera and LAN access in her sunglasses. In this world of walking WiFi networks and matrix cowboys breaking mega-corporation security precautions sometimes the best way to secure your information was to just to go old school.

Once she got back to the office she would send the picture she snapped of Miss Johnson to a couple of her contacts to run a check then, and only then would she call Minder. For a simple job like this the entire payment should have maybe been two-thousand if the route was hazardous. Twenty-thousand was just enough to get stupid and forget that to get paid meant surviving first.

The drive back to the office was uneventful and the route along the river was mostly pleasant but the more she thought about it the more this job did not sit right. She pulled the bike into one of the converted freight container that served as private parking for the office building. Security was handled by a small independent contractor that had started out at a roving gang before they got the idea to go legit. The private police agencies didn’t care much for this area due to the patches of untouched sections of forest and were content to claim the lowered crime rate as their doing.

With her bike locked securely into place along with the other lightweight vehicles she made her way down the exterior staircase then to the rear access of the building. The interior walls were a sort of high density plastic that was incredibly popular in modular construction these days. An open space could easily be split into compartments to just about any dimensions. It was widely used due to the fact that it was sound proof and if a bomb went off in one compartment it would be confined to the adjacent space. On the job her name was Haley Swain or Red to her friends, as a runner she was simply Hale.

Their five-by-ten compartment office was nestled between a nail salon and the back wall giving them a bit more privacy in exchange for the wafting stench of chemicals. W.M. H. Curriers was about as legit as a business could get, one of the founding members even had a SIN and before The Awakening had been a bike messenger. It was crazy to think that even in a world with drone driven cars and magicians a good old fashion currier could still get work. A lot of their work was above board, simple package delivery from point A to point B but Hale and Manny, the other employee, took side jobs for extra creds. Woods, Manny, and Hale were the only three employees of W.M.H. Curriers but with help from an automated answering service with an alternating voice it sounded like they were bigger than that.

Three desks which were basically chairs with an attached lap sized plates on a swivel were positioned along the right and back wall leaving as much open space as possible. In reality it left about two and a half feet to shift through and meant that having an orc or troll on staff was impossible.

Manny was sitting at his desk with the platform in the locked position and his right leg draped across it. His foot was tapping to a song only he could hear but he still managed to nod hello as she walked in. He hooked a thumb behind him and then mimed riding a bike meaning Woods was out on a delivery. Hale winked in acknowledgment and shimmied into her desk at the back and put her sunglasses and the cred-stick on the platform. She had welded an extra support to make it more like a real desk and to handle the company computer. She plugged in the cred-stick fist, running a program to make sure it wasn’t traced or hiding malicious code, and then attached her sunglasses to load the pictures. Woods didn’t really appreciate her or Manny using company time for runs but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

The system dinged at her as she tried to open the file for the surveillance photos and Hale squinted at the screen. She read the message and accepted the offer to reformat the folder which had mysteriously been corrupted. Miss Johnson wasn’t as stupid as she looked but the cred-stick was clean.

“Manny,” she slipped the cred-stick back into her pocket and looked at her coworker.

“Manny,” she said it out louder this time but he still didn’t answer.

With a sigh she stood up, took two steps over to his desk, and hit to release switch on the swivel platform. His leg fell to the ground as the table smoothly clicked back into place. He was jarred forward, just barely managing to catch himself before his head hit the floor.

“What is your malfunction?” He yelled a bit too loud, his music was still on.

Hale tapped her ear and with a huff he pulled out his earphones.

“Shut up,” she smiled. “Want to make five hundred creds?”

The near-rage on his face changed to a very happy smile, “I do like creds. What’s the job?”

“I need some support on a run in a couple days,” she put her cybernetic hand in her jacket pocket. “Just to be safe, you know.”

Manny nodded knowingly, “getting all teched up is only enjoyable when it’s by choice.” He tapped behind his right ear. “Another grand I’m going subdermal.”

“I prefer to be able to put down my phone.”

“Phone?” He scoffed. “Music, you uncultured swine. What’s the plan?”

“In two days I’ve got a pick-up, you trail me and keep an eye out for trouble,” she wrote down the address from memory. “Once I get the package I’m getting the destination, it doesn’t smell right.” She paused then added. “I’m getting three grand for it.”

Manny whistled, “now, that is a lot for an A to B.”

“I snapped a couple of shots of the client but the files got corrupted and my gear isn’t even wireless.”

“Damn,” he coughed. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Leave a comment

Filed under Science Fiction, Short Fiction, Writing


I ran into some very funny ideas when I was looking into Asatru aka the religion of the Vikings. It’s reconstructed due to the invasive crazies calling themselves Christians (study history the thought of not converting by the sword was thoroughly ignored) but that is another point for another day.

What I ran into was that there is a theme of genetic ties to the religion, tracing back your bloodline to show you’re ‘allowed’ to worship. I find this rather silly because you know when all those ships were out raiding, trading, and doing mercenary work they didn’t consort with local women at all. Nope, not a one of those men had any children with anyone but their significant other or future significant other so obviously not being from one of four accepted regions would completely invalidate your faith. In this vein of thought Irish people could only be druids, Mexicans would have to worship the Aztec gods, and Italians would be praying to Zeus.

Leave a comment

Filed under Rant, Uncategorized

Writing Exercise #1 Writing from a song title: Gives You Hell- All American Rejects

Someone was ringing the bell. No, that implies that the person on the other side of the door lightly pressed the button and then waited patiently for me to drag my half-asleep rump from the wonderful medicine induced sleep and that clearly was not happening. Whoever was pressing the button was really laying into it causing the electronic buzz to reverberate through the house and into my skull. This was not the day to mess with me, I was home sick with the flu and when I’m in less than stellar health I can be a bit of a jerk. 

I stomped down the hallway toward the front door with my blanket draped over my shoulders like a cape and wrenched the door open. Before my hand had touched the handle I was ready to spit venom and possibly sneeze on this inconsiderate invader but once I opened the door the ringing stopped and instead of a person there was a small parcel waiting on the mat.

Notice I did not say a welcome mat, I don’t trust those things and strangers are not welcome in my house. I lived alone and planned on dying alone only to alert the neighbors with the smell a few weeks later.

My blanket dropped to the floor and I stared down at the package in wonder. Flu addled and sleep deprived my brain could not comprehend why there was a cardboard box on my front step let along begin to ponder the sudden disappearance of the delivery person. As though the package would pop when I touched it I eased down into a crouch and gently picked it up. Sure enough it was addressed to me.

Upon further inspection I found it to be lighter than expected, the size was about that of a double slotted toaster but it was hardly more than a pound. Still confused I backed into the hallway and shut the door with my foot, walking on the blanket and leaving there for later.

Each step was gentle reverence as I walked down the hall and to the living room. The box gave a small hollow sound as I set it down on the bistro table which stood in place for a dining area and I pulled out the matching chair to examine the box. My name and address were present but I couldn’t find a return address or any postage markings for that matter. Not exactly knowing why I leaned forward and sniffed it, a faint scent of cedar tickle my senses and I sat back in the chair to let my brain try to figure this out.

After a moment curiosity won out over caution and I slid my fingers along the mat-brown packaging to find an opening. In that moment I was no longer almost thirty, alone, and flu-ridden I was a kid again unwrapping a late Christmas present from a far off relative. The paper tore away with a satisfying rip exposing a mundane white unmarked box sealed with boring clear packing tape.

Curiosity and wonder were replaced with boredom. I pointed my index and middle finger on my right hand with a downward thrust I broke the seal on the package. Ripping my hand back toward my body I completely removed the tapes hold on the box and pulled it open to look inside.

There was nothing. I jiggled the box but the only sound was that of the wrapping paper falling to the floor. Still unwilling to give up I reached my hand in to feel around and instantly pulled my hand back. Somehow the box went deeper than its dimensions. I put my hand in again, this time pushing the box up to my armpit and still there wasn’t any resistance. An idea struck me and I leaned forward to see if I could catch a glimpse of my arm under the table.


A sudden rush of air from inside the box brought the strong odor of brimstone. The wafting nastiness made me stumble back into the chair. I lost my balance and tried to reach out to steady myself but the box was still pressed against my armpit. Suddenly I wasn’t falling anymore something was pulling me to my feet.  Someone or something had my hand from inside the box.

I opened my mouth to scream but the overpowering scent of brimstone made the noise halt in my throat. Something clamped down on my wrist, piercing the skin and shooting painful, burning impulse to my already overwrought brain. There was a tug, the lid of the box scraped against my neck now.

Another, harder this time and I lift off my feet.

Then, nothing.


Filed under Short Fiction, Writing