My stories I wrote the other day, so I’ll post them up today and tomorrow. Also, today marks the eighteenth month Chelsea and I have been together. Hard to believe we’ve been together so long, that love lasts this way. It’s something I’ve never really experienced before. I’m going to make her her favorite meal tonight: Juicy Lucy.
But, yes, a story today that’s pretty surreal and sort of crazy, but I dig it.
Oh, also, I finished that YA novella yesterday, which isn’t so much a novella as a long short story. Probably going to selfpublish it once some eyes that aren’t mine run over it and I can rustle up a blurb. From there I’ll probably turn it into a series.
When the storm came Hālig spread his arms before the last tree on earth, the sleeves of his robes falling to his elbows, the rain battering his face, but still the humans watched, rapt. When the lightning struck the gynoids captured it in their phosphorescent nets and redirected it to Hālig, striking him in the chest and creating a sustained low energy bolt between them. He spoke, his voice rasped and wavering, and before he finished one minute of electrelocution, the bolt bent him backwards, his hands clutching his chest. The rain whipped through the crowd and their robes hung heavy through the storm. The bold fizzled out and Hālig collapsed to one knee and hand, gasping. Heaving, nothing came and the crowd panicked, corralled by the gynoids. He pulled down his hood and his face began to tear at the seams of his mouth. His neck expanded and he opened his mouth as if to scream but an arm came out, glittering in blackness. Screams erupted from the humans and their bodies became the storm, battering against the automaton shore. The hand reached from his mouth and ripped at his face, tearing skin away and then his mouth split to his neck and a hairless head emerged, followed by another arm and then a female body blacker than night, but shimmering like distant stars. The body kicked away the husk of Hālig and spoke through the tumult of human bodies crashing through the biomechanical barrier.
Its voice was a roar and its words clanged against the raindrops, surrounding the humans, suffocating them with oppressive sonic entanglement. The body spoke and the humans shattered the gynoids at the foot of the millennia altar. The humans rushed the body, surrounding it, but the voice spoke on, ripping through spaceTime and skin, weaving in their bodies, their cells, their atoms and rewriting them subatomically until their violent hands turned to carresses, their bloodlust to adoration. The body opened itself to their hands and their lust and filled them with hope.
When the storm passed the tangled naked bodies of humans writhed round the body whose voice turned them to a swarm. When all their energy was spent, they slept, and the body with the voice like nothing and nowhere whispered into their dreams, placing a hand on each of the human bodies. It climbed the tree, its blackness terrifying and beautiful in the dawnlight. Squatting, it laid an egg, enormous and black as oil. Lifting the egg above its head, it called to the humans and they all woke to the sight of a new god rising black and glorious above them. It threw down the egg and it shattered in light, washing color from the humans and leaving them pale and white and nude.
The humans turned then to the enormous walls of the City. With each step they sewed a future of silence, a future to resemble the forgotten past. From the boughs of the tree, the new god watched the walls tumble down, the buildings corrode and crumble, the raining down of satellites and the world washed new with fire and dust. And then the storms that stretched for decades and centuries until the fallout deserts sprouted green and the last tree on earth found children again.