DEATH waited while the old woman didn't take a deep breath.
"Now what?" she asked. "Where is my husband, or at least my family, most of them are dead long ago?"
AH, thought DEATH, for a moment, ONE OF THOSE.
WERE YOU EXPECTING TO BE MET? DEATH asked.
"Well, I don't know. I've never died before." She shuffled a bit, the clarity of death biting away her self deprecating reflex. "I suppose I hoped there would be someone, after all I waited for everyone else all those years."
They were standing in the silvery desert now, and DEATH handed the old woman a small seed. THIS WAS WAITING FOR YOU.
She took it dubiously, "What is this old thing?"
ALL THAT WAS LEFT WHEN YOUR HUSBAND DIED. HE NEVER GREW HIS SOUL, SO THAT WAS ALL HE WAS.
A sudden insight, and she asked, "A mustard seed?"
DEATH looked up as a woman crossed the desert toward them, a determined stride, she seemed young and strong and gently irritated.
"Mary, what are you doing there? C'mon, we're late."
The old woman had shrunk to the size of a small girl, with copper hair in a smooth, too short bob. She ran to the young woman, burying her face in her skirts.
"Sorry about her, she's my baby sister. I'll take care of her." And stretched out her spare hand to shake.
DEATH was slightly taken aback, even among the dead this was highly unusual. She grasped his bony hand, thanked him again, "Sorry" and the pair were gone.
PROBABLY CANADIAN, THAT SORRY ALWAYS GIVES IT AWAY.
DEATH never quite knew where they went after, not part of his job, only heard the stories from those who'd never been. Humans, and their imaginations, always intrigued him. Then he saw the seed, left in the sand, unregarded. It would never grow there.
He turned, and Binky waited. Always more to do.
With apologies to Pterry.
Showing posts with label Fable. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fable. Show all posts
Thursday, August 29, 2019
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
Microbes
She rolled herself across, feeling the sun ripple around. She felt too hot, ill. How long had she been feeling so sick, she wondered. She felt for the microbes, who thought in all times, from their ancient beginnings as her first life, to the small moments of their mutations, aware of the tiniest vibrations of their own atoms. Not great conversationalists, but informative.
She remembered the trilobites, her first glimpse at herself. They told her of her shape, and she began to understand herself. They sickened her as well, changed her atmosphere forever, and new creatures appeared. She still missed them, caressing the marks of their existence in her book of stone. Funny beings, tickled when they shimmied over her, and she smiled in memory.
Then much more complex life, eager and inventive, huge and curious, adaptable they played their wits against her. She loved their feathers, some managed to fly, some dipped in and out of the seas, so many variations. Her old microbe friends eagerly surrounded them, grew in every crevice. When they got too much, as they did, she would shudder, pull her ice caps over, shift her plates around, and drowse a while, to wake refreshed, to find new life had formed again.
The insects in all their variation joined in the chorus, swarming and beautiful. So inventive, and musical. They told her stories of herself she'd never have imagined, bridging the time perception gap, she began to appreciate the glory of a single day, or a short season of summer. Brief, twittering stories, but so many of them.
She'd liked all the feathers and fur after the last thorough scrubbing. Such intelligent minds those birds and mammals. So smart, the corvids and cetaceans especially. She slowed her perception of time down, those apes, they changed it all, intentionally. She'd tried to keep them in check, but perhaps only half heartedly. As they tried to keep the other adaptable animals out of their way, but held a sneaking affection for, such as rats and ravens. She loved their art, that spoke of their adoration of her. She admired how prettily she sparkled on the night side when their cities lit up. She felt such love when they visited her moon and gazed back upon her, letting her see herself for the first time as a whole and gorgeous place.
But this, and she slowed her time down to their scale, this was all wrong. An acute fever, with no signs of let up. Worse, they were turning more heat on. A discussion with the microbes, to help her remember how to do this.
She let the heat build and break, flooding her dry land, and ...pulled. The ice grew, much more rapidly than before. Her plates shifted, long held gasses spewed, long dormant microbes woke and greeted her. She grew somnolent and obtunded, knowing she would wake to find very different forms growing. She vaguely hoped some of her brightest crows and whales, cats and humans, weeds and roaches, would be clever enough to survive, like her sharks and crocodiles. Oh, she sighed, the poor trilobites.
She grieved the loss of her experiments, the odd side projects and small batches. But she would remember, when she woke, surely, she'd remember and try them again with new materials. She hoped the talkative humans would be there when she woke. She knew most of the insects would be. Anyway, the microbes would give her a full report. For now, she drifted off, slowing, shifting, turning.
She remembered the trilobites, her first glimpse at herself. They told her of her shape, and she began to understand herself. They sickened her as well, changed her atmosphere forever, and new creatures appeared. She still missed them, caressing the marks of their existence in her book of stone. Funny beings, tickled when they shimmied over her, and she smiled in memory.
Then much more complex life, eager and inventive, huge and curious, adaptable they played their wits against her. She loved their feathers, some managed to fly, some dipped in and out of the seas, so many variations. Her old microbe friends eagerly surrounded them, grew in every crevice. When they got too much, as they did, she would shudder, pull her ice caps over, shift her plates around, and drowse a while, to wake refreshed, to find new life had formed again.
The insects in all their variation joined in the chorus, swarming and beautiful. So inventive, and musical. They told her stories of herself she'd never have imagined, bridging the time perception gap, she began to appreciate the glory of a single day, or a short season of summer. Brief, twittering stories, but so many of them.
She'd liked all the feathers and fur after the last thorough scrubbing. Such intelligent minds those birds and mammals. So smart, the corvids and cetaceans especially. She slowed her perception of time down, those apes, they changed it all, intentionally. She'd tried to keep them in check, but perhaps only half heartedly. As they tried to keep the other adaptable animals out of their way, but held a sneaking affection for, such as rats and ravens. She loved their art, that spoke of their adoration of her. She admired how prettily she sparkled on the night side when their cities lit up. She felt such love when they visited her moon and gazed back upon her, letting her see herself for the first time as a whole and gorgeous place.
But this, and she slowed her time down to their scale, this was all wrong. An acute fever, with no signs of let up. Worse, they were turning more heat on. A discussion with the microbes, to help her remember how to do this.
She let the heat build and break, flooding her dry land, and ...pulled. The ice grew, much more rapidly than before. Her plates shifted, long held gasses spewed, long dormant microbes woke and greeted her. She grew somnolent and obtunded, knowing she would wake to find very different forms growing. She vaguely hoped some of her brightest crows and whales, cats and humans, weeds and roaches, would be clever enough to survive, like her sharks and crocodiles. Oh, she sighed, the poor trilobites.
She grieved the loss of her experiments, the odd side projects and small batches. But she would remember, when she woke, surely, she'd remember and try them again with new materials. She hoped the talkative humans would be there when she woke. She knew most of the insects would be. Anyway, the microbes would give her a full report. For now, she drifted off, slowing, shifting, turning.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Story
An older couple lived by a stream, with their young daughter, a bright joy. She watched the silver fish in the stream, the blue birds in the sky, the red flowers in the fields, and laughed at the rainbows and pink clouds above.
Until one day the sky heaved, and the wind beat the earth, and a black mass of tiny demons swept over the little family, and swept up the tiny child, and took her off. The couple watched her disappear, helpless to her plight, until she vanished completely far up and away. Not knowing what to do, with hearts of lead, they sat down on a bench in the meadow, held hands and wept in a world without color.
They wept and wept, day after day, until their tears formed a pond. Far above an eagle watched curiously. Until the pond became a lake, salty and dead, since no fish from the streams could live in salty water. The eagle, who loved cod and herring, had an idea.
One day, as they sat weeping, they heard a splash, which startled them enough to look up. Above them, an eagle wheeled away. A little while later, he came back, with a fish held gently in his talons, and splash, the fish fell into the water. Something about the bird, and the timing of the flop caused them to laugh. For the first time since their daughter vanished, they stopped crying.
Next day, more large birds brought more ocean fish, until the couple figured they could catch one and have dinner. Slowly, the fish thrived, and the eagle would circle above them, or perch on their roof, listening to them talk quietly of their loss. The eagle thought and thought, as he soared, until one day, he saw a small, starving child sleeping by a river. The eagle swept down, and gently wrapped his talons around the child, and flew hard, carrying him along to his lake and the couple. Then he caught one of the fish in the lake, and enjoyed his dinner by his own calm sea.
In the morning, the woman found the child asleep on the porch, and took him in. On that day, the color began to return, the stream began to brighten, and the roses bloomed a pale pink, the birds seemed a light shade of blue. The man even whistled at his chores, now and then.
Over the years, the boy, although always solemn and a bit thin, became a good kind man, with a sweet cheerful wife, who took kind care of the now old couple, and a small granddaughter who watched the silver fish in the stream, the emerald fish in the lake, the blue birds in the sky, the red flowers in the fields, and laughed at the rainbows and pink clouds above. And never wondered why so many eagles loved to circle the strangely salty lake near her home.
Until one day the sky heaved, and the wind beat the earth, and a black mass of tiny demons swept over the little family, and swept up the tiny child, and took her off. The couple watched her disappear, helpless to her plight, until she vanished completely far up and away. Not knowing what to do, with hearts of lead, they sat down on a bench in the meadow, held hands and wept in a world without color.
They wept and wept, day after day, until their tears formed a pond. Far above an eagle watched curiously. Until the pond became a lake, salty and dead, since no fish from the streams could live in salty water. The eagle, who loved cod and herring, had an idea.
One day, as they sat weeping, they heard a splash, which startled them enough to look up. Above them, an eagle wheeled away. A little while later, he came back, with a fish held gently in his talons, and splash, the fish fell into the water. Something about the bird, and the timing of the flop caused them to laugh. For the first time since their daughter vanished, they stopped crying.
Next day, more large birds brought more ocean fish, until the couple figured they could catch one and have dinner. Slowly, the fish thrived, and the eagle would circle above them, or perch on their roof, listening to them talk quietly of their loss. The eagle thought and thought, as he soared, until one day, he saw a small, starving child sleeping by a river. The eagle swept down, and gently wrapped his talons around the child, and flew hard, carrying him along to his lake and the couple. Then he caught one of the fish in the lake, and enjoyed his dinner by his own calm sea.
In the morning, the woman found the child asleep on the porch, and took him in. On that day, the color began to return, the stream began to brighten, and the roses bloomed a pale pink, the birds seemed a light shade of blue. The man even whistled at his chores, now and then.
Over the years, the boy, although always solemn and a bit thin, became a good kind man, with a sweet cheerful wife, who took kind care of the now old couple, and a small granddaughter who watched the silver fish in the stream, the emerald fish in the lake, the blue birds in the sky, the red flowers in the fields, and laughed at the rainbows and pink clouds above. And never wondered why so many eagles loved to circle the strangely salty lake near her home.
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